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You ever get those late-night texts from someone who's clearly watched too many romantic movies? I got one the other day that just said, "Love me." I mean, talk about cutting to the chase. I thought I accidentally stumbled into a Shakespearean play or something. I'm sitting there, looking at my phone like, "Is this a cry for help or just a really aggressive Tinder bio?" I don't know if I should call a therapist or a matchmaker. Either way, I'm swiping left on emotional breakdowns.
And you know, it's always the vague ones. "Love me." Like, can you be a bit more specific? Do you want me to love you like my grandma loves me, or more like how I love pizza? Because those are two very different kinds of love, my friend.
I'm just waiting for the day someone sends me a text like, "Mildly tolerate me until further notice." Now that's a level of honesty I can get behind.
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So, I'm trying this new dating app, right? And I match with someone whose entire profile just says, "Love me." Now, I'm thinking, "Okay, maybe this is a cry for connection or a secret code for 'I make a killer lasagna.'" But no, turns out I matched with an actual ghost. I'm not talking about someone who never replies; I mean a literal ghost. Casper's distant cousin, perhaps. I'm sitting there expecting cute messages, and all I get is chains rattling and spooky emojis. I'm thinking, "Wow, even in the afterlife, relationships are complicated."
I try to have a conversation, and all I get is "Boo" and "I vant to suck your blood." I mean, come on! I'm looking for love, not an extra for a B-grade horror movie.
On the bright side, at least I won't have to worry about meeting the parents. Just the ancestors, I guess.
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I got this message that said, "Love me." Sounds simple enough, right? But then came the fine print: "But only on weekdays, between 7 and 10 PM. Weekends are for me time." Well, excuse me, Mr. or Ms. Love on a Schedule. I'm thinking, "Is this a relationship or a part-time job?" I mean, who needs a love calendar? "Sorry, babe, it's 10:01 PM on a Friday. Love hours are closed. Try again on Monday."
And what happens if I try to sneak in a little love on a Saturday afternoon? Am I going to get fined for overtime? Are there love inspectors making surprise visits to check if we're in compliance?
I just want a relationship, not a subscription to the Love-of-the-Month Club. Can't we keep love spontaneous, like those surprise Amazon packages that you forgot you ordered?
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You ever encounter those people who don't ask for love directly but drop hints like they're in a subtlety competition? I got a note the other day that said, "It would be nice if someone appreciated my existence." Oh, great, now I'm in a relationship with a philosophical question. I'm sitting there thinking, "Is this a cry for help or a cry for an ego boost?" I can't tell if I'm entering a love story or a therapy session.
And it's always the subtle ones that hit you with a guilt trip. "Oh, you didn't notice that I watered your plants while you were away? It's cool; I was just expressing my undying affection for you in the form of horticulture."
Can't we just go back to the good old days when people would say, "Hey, I like you. Let's grab a coffee"? Now it's all, "Decode my emotional Morse code, and maybe I'll consider a second date.
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