I should've known it when I pulled the souvenir Super Bowl seat cushion out of its hiding place near my desk. I haven't used it since the week I returned and only brought it from home to torture the sports freaks in my office.
The dead have arisen.
At 7:45 last night, while I was about to doze off in front of my tv, my cell phone chirped to announce a text message. It's a new cell phone, so I thought maybe the weird sound was the tv.
It wasn't.
"Your silence is deafening," wrote Super Bowl guy.
Just a reminder, boys and girls: last I heard from him, he was skiiing in Aspen on Valentine's Day with whomever.
I replied, "Me?! Where u been?" (since I'm all over this short-code texting shit.)
"Meet me at PJ Clark's at 8:45."
My thoughts at that moment: that little a-hole is not only in town, but already at a bar and just expects me to drop everything and haul my fanny to him! For all I know, he could've been in town for a few days already and just now ran out of other entertainment!
Prior to the Super Bowl, the two of us could've starred in a commercial for communication in the 21st century: text messages, email, cell phone calls.
Since then?
Except for one text message, nada.
My answer? "Sorry, no time. Washing my hair."
A girl's gotta have her priorities, ya know!
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