Oops-tober!
Ring Ring, Why Don’t You Give Me a Call
Yes, you could climb the walls like Spidey, waiting for that call.
We’ve all been there, haven’t we? Waiting for that one narcissist we can’t quite get over, no matter how many times we’ve been burnt. The fingers keep hovering over the oven again and again.
So there I was, Tuesday evening, sitting around and waiting for Jack the Narcissist to call.
We were one year into our relationship on Wednesday, toxic or not, it still felt like an anniversary worth celebrating.
I expected the works: dinner, roses, champagne, the whole overpriced experience. After all, surviving twelve months of his nonsense had to count for something.
In the midst of watching Squid Game — you know the Red Light, Green Light scene where one wrong move gets everyone shot, I suddenly thought of Jack. His temper always reminded me of those moments: one wrong move and you get the action of a machine gun.
So, just as the giant doll turned her head and the air filled with bullets, I grabbed my Samsung and shot off a quick text to Jack, barely looking away from the screen.
Hey darling, so what’s the plan for Wednesday? — Shall I slip on Something Sexy?
Tap. Send. Done.
I tossed the phone aside as the doll’s head spun again, ready for the next round of Red Light, Green Light.
Five minutes later, I picked up the phone again just to check. (You know the drill.)
Nothing.
Ahhh. Must not be tempted. Must stay away from phone.
I checked again after I came back from the bathroom. Still nothing.
Here we go again.
At that point, I honestly wished I were in Squid Game. At least that kind of misery would end quickly.
And then — yes, again — I grabbed my phone. Just to see if my message had gotten the double ticks. The read status. The only sign of life that mattered.
That’s when my heart dropped faster than a Wi-Fi signal.
The message wasn’t sitting under “Jack ❤️.”
It was under “Rita Salon 💇♀️.”
Rita.
My hairdresser. The woman who knows my roots better than most people — but not the one I could ever slip on something sexy for.
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The woman who might now think I’m completely perverted.
And of course, those damn double ticks never appear when you want them to — but they always show up for the wrong text message.
Hitting my head hard against my hand, I groaned.
“Arrrg… what the fck is wrong with you?”
In pure panic, I grabbed my phone and fired off a quick text:
“OMG sorry, wrong person 😅”
Great. Damage control, done.
But where the heck was Jack? Nothing. No message. No call. No sign of life. And it was less than 24 hours until our first anniversary.
Damn you, Jack.
I started pacing the living room — up, down, up, down — with a broken heart. My stomach twisted in knots, my head buzzing, my heart breaking all over again.
And then — Ring, Ring…
I froze.
Incoming call: Rita Salon 💇♀️.
Oh. My. God. You gotta be kidding me!
“Hi darling!” she chirped in that cheery, hair-salon voice that’s both comforting and repulsive. “I just got your message… are you okay?”
I laughed nervously, mumbling something about sending the wrong text while multitasking, but Rita wasn’t letting it go. “Aww, that’s so sweet though,” she said. “We’ve all been there,”
She told me about the time she once texted “Can’t wait to kiss you” to her electrician, and he ended up screwing on more than her light bulb.
We both burst out laughing.
I suddenly felt relaxed, these things happen to other people.
By the end of the call, I’d booked a trim, confessed my romantic woes, and told Rita she is the real darling.
My mind was not on narcissist Jake anymore. I’d already had the conversation I needed, just not the one I expected.
The next morning, I got a message from Rita:
“Your appointment’s confirmed ❤️ Also, hope he calls. But if not, your hair’s still gonna look fabulous.”
Rishita Sharma happy to deliver to your Oops-tober!🕶 Prompt.
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