Puddin' Hooks Up With His Boss - Postscript

This part of the story is not really as funny, but you, the reader, should have some closure, especially because I told you I would give it to you.

Nearly 2 and a half years after that ridiculous night, I'm sitting in my PR class when I receive an instant message from an obviously female screenname I don't recognize. The conversation went something like this...


Her: Hey (Puddin')! :)
Me: Hey!
Her: How are you?
Me: Great! How are you?

I have no idea who this is. I'll figure it out though. No problem. I'm tricky.

Her: I'm doing well! :D What are you up to these days? :) ;)
Me: Good to hear. I'm in law school. What about you?
Her: Congratulations! :D ;) [Here, she said something about what she was doing. Who cares.] :P :P
Me: Cool.
Her: Hey, I just wanted to say something... I'm really sorry about the shit that went down that week. I felt really bad about it. :/ :/

I have no idea who this or what she is talking about. My mind is scrambling, trying to figure it out. Is it a girl I hooked up with and didn't call again? Maybe I'm distracted by all the fucking smilies, I don't know. I clue in my buddy, "Wilson," as to what's going on, so he can witness the inevitable train wreck.

Me: Oh, don't worry about it. No big deal.
Her: Really, I'm so so sorry about it. I didn't mean for it to happen like that. :( :/

Why the hell couldn't she give me a clue? Damn vague pronoun references. I'm flat out lost.

Me: Well, I don't really hold grudges, so all is forgiven. Really, don't worry about it at all.
Her: Thank you so much. You were always cool like that. :) :D ;) :P
Me: I try!

Actually, I don't. Anyway, I still have no fucking clue what is going on, and Wilson is getting a charge out of all of this.

Her: We should catch up some time! :D
Me: Definitely. It's been a while...
Her: What's your number? ;) ;)
Me: 513-555-1234

Only I gave her my real number. This would prove to be a bad decision... almost epically bad. In my defense, I thought that this may have been a chick I hooked up with, and it's good to keep those ties, just in case, right? Right after I hit "Enter," Wilson elbows me in the ribs, telling me I'm a fucking moron. He was right. There is no defense for my actions, given the amount of information I had to go on.

Her: Thanks! Mine's [insert phone number here.] :D :P
Me: Cool. Well, I'm in class. I should probably at least pretend to pay attention.
Her: I understand. It was good chatting with you! :) :)
Me: You too.
Her: Talk to you soon! :P :D
Me: Bye.

Proving himself a trustworthy ally, Wilson suggests a reverse look-up of the phone number in order to discover the identity of this mystery internet woman. Off to whitepages.com I go. While no name is returned, the number is from a small town outside of where I went to undergrad. I rack my brain as to who I know that lives there, and I slowly remember the screenname. No, it couldn't be. There's no way. Jesus Christ, what did I just do!? Wilson is loving it. I am not nearly as amused. Is there a chance I'm mistaken? Maybe there is, right? Dear God, let me be wrong! I wasn't wrong. I'm a fucking moron.

Later that day, I'm hanging out at PV's (who had heard the story for the first time that day and knew about the PR chat session) apartment when I get a phone call from the mysterious internet woman. THE SAME GODDAMN DAY! Ladies, that doesn't reek of desperation, in case you were wondering. There is no way I'm taking the call. At this point, I still had a shred of hope that this wasn't who I thought it was, but I was playing it safe anyway. PV tried to push me to answer it and even offered his services to take the call. I refused both, insisting on seeing if she left a voicemail.

BEEP BEEP BEEP. Yes! She left a message! I immediately dialed my voicemail number and nervously played the message.

"Hey, (Puddin'). It's me, (Fat Boss). Thanks for chatting with me earlier. I'd really like to get together for appetizers and then go to an all-you-can-eat Chinese buffet, and follow it up with a trip to Cold Stone for dessert, and maybe we'll hit up a White Castle on the way back for a late night snack. Then you can help me put up my new cow curtains and move my cow rug!"

OK, she didn't say all that. But I just know she was thinking it. I bet when she really thinks hard about it, she can still taste my dick.

She ended up calling me a couple of times a day for the next few days, leaving me more messages. I ignored every call and erased all the messages. I blocked her on Instant Messenger. I almost went into hiding.

It was kind of like Alicia Silverstone in The Crush...

...only fatter. And more legal (although one could certainly argue that society has this one backward).

Others found my predicament to be quite funny. In the end, I guess it was my fault. Not for having my fat boss give me a toothy blowjob and then leaving when I asked her to brush her teeth. I mean, by me giving out my phone number without knowing to whom I was giving it. If not for Wilson's quick thinking, I would have taken that first phone call. Then who knows how the story would end?

Glad I didn't have to find out. Which reminds me, I need to buy Wilson a drink and thank him again.

I was going to end the post here, but I have a follow-up thought. That fat bitch should have apologized, and it shouldn't have taken her 2.5 years to do it. She had me fired! The way I see it... I made out with her. I let her give me a blowjob. For a few minutes, I made her feel like a woman instead of livestock. I did her a favor, and she had me fired. Congress Vodka didn't buy itself, you fucking slob! And in case you're reading this, Fat Boss, fuck you. Unless you lost 200 lbs. and are hot now. In which case, I would like to have a threesome with you.

~Puddin'