“Longggg Legs!” It’s 6:00am. I’m still in bed because my alarm’s not set to go off for another half hour. So why the heck is my phone buzzing? Oh right. It’s a text message. I fumble in the darkness for my cell phone, knocking a pile of library books to the floor in the process. “New message from Pete from Match” the screen reads. I click “Read Now” (since I’m already awake) and there it is: Longggg Legs!
Seriously Pete? I slam the phone back onto the bookshelf that serves as my nightstand and try to go back to sleep. But just as I close my eyes, my phone buzzes. It’s Pete from Match again, and now he’s getting frisky.
“You woke me up for that?” I pound into my phone.
“U awake?” he writes back.
“Thanks to you, yes.” I type.
“U luv me!”
Yes, Pete, that’s it. I love you. You can’t even formulate a complete sentence, you’ve waken me up for a completely asinine text message at 6:00am and now, although you can’t be bothered to reply to the part of my email where I asked when you’re free next week, you’re all about “sexting” me and my longggg legs. Yeah, Pete, I love you. Totally.
(If you don’t know what “sexting” is, just watch Glee. Santana explains is quite well.)
You’ll note that I’ve not even bothered to give Pete a number. That’s because after I proceed to ignore Pete for the rest of the day (more or less; I did send one “Sorry for being such a b*tch, but come on…” note) I get another text. This time it’s one o’clock in the morning.
I figured he was drunk the first time. I mean who texts a perfect stranger at 6:00am to inform her that she has long legs, especially when he’s never even seen these legs aside from the photographs on her Match.com profile because he’s too dimwitted to just ask her out already?
But then I get the text at 1:00am (“Hiii”) and I’m confused. Was he drunk at both 6:00am and 1:00am? Did he even bother to sober up in between? I turn my phone on silent and go back to sleep.
The next morning, I write back to Pete from Match. “Dude, the 6:00am text? Not cool. The 1:00am text? Definitely not cool.” I don’t mind receiving early morning and late night text messages from certain people; my immediate family, for example, can text me at just about any time and I’m totally civil about it. Friends in different time zones also get a pass. But Match.com boys? Especially one I’ve never met? I don’t think so.
It’s sad too, because I really wanted to go out with Pete, just once. Why? Well, this might be a bit shallow of me—okay, this is a bit shallow of me—but I’m kind of having a George Costanza moment here.
Remember that Seinfeld episode where George is hanging around Jerry’s apartment wondering what it would be like to have sex with a really tall woman, only to encounter a woman of this exact description three seconds later? Well, that’s me and Pete. I don’t want to have sex with him but I do have a slight inkling to know what it would be like to go out with him because Pete (drum roll, please) happens to be 6’7”.
That’s a full three inches taller than my dad and I don’t know anyone who’s taller than my dad.
I know, I know. It’s terrible of me, and shallow of me, and I’m objectifying poor Pete but he’s doing the same damn thing (there’s a huge difference, for example, between “You have a great smile” and “U have the greatest legggggs in the world!”). Nonetheless, I suppose I’ve gotten what I deserve: two nights of otherwise restful slumber ruined by Pete and his incessant text messages, all for the sake of my so-called research.