FAG!

The liberal in me feels the need to make this annoying disclaimer: I am a whore for gay rights. Really, civil rights in general, but still. I mean, the fastest way to get me to angrily tell someone to go suck a fuck is if that someone is being a fucking intolerant homophobe.

Now, that disclaimer made…let’s think about things we know about this blog’s author:

(Other than she must be into talking about herself in the third person…pretentious bitch.)

Okay, here we go:

Things We Know

1.      I have an offensive sense of humor.

2.      Really offensive.

3.      I share that sense of humor with That Guy I Married.

4.      We like to fuck with each other…

5.      …in ways that normal people[1] don’t always understand.

Today, while we were sitting next to each other watching TV, I started texting TGIM. I wasn’t really paying attention, I was just playing with the new phone he bought me (score). I’ll admit, it wasn’t my best work, nor was it my most creative. It wasn’t something that would make him laugh out loud, or even really respond. I was just bored. That’s why I didn’t really think about it when he didn’t talk shit back. It was a message thread that I never would have thought about again…

…until I realized I hadn’t been texting the man I’ve been doing dirty things to for fifteen years. Nope. Who was I texting?

The mother of The Daughter’s best friend. A PTA mom. Someone I like, but not someone who I know very well…and definitely not someone I would have purposefully shared this with:

·         “Fag.”

·         “F

A

G

…that spells you.”

·         “fag fag fag fag fag fag fag fag fag fag fag fag fag fag fag fag fag fag fag fag fag fag fag fag fag fag fag fag fag fag fag fag fag fag fag fag fag fag fag fag fag fag fag fag”

·         “You are Fagator, butt astronaut of Uranus.”

·         “Shit, anal astronaut. Alliteration.”

Lucky for me, I got distracted and started doing something else before I could make any racial slurs (The Daughter’s best friend is an adorable halfrican).

Now, blog, I want you to be proud of me. When the (very confused) woman responded, I didn’t lie. Sure, I considered ignoring the text and then telling her my phone had been stolen. I considered saying I had left my phone out at work and one of the guys there had raped my outbox. I even (briefly) considered blaming it on TGIM (she’s seen him drunk…she would have believed me).

But I didn’t lie. I owned up to it. Apologized copiously. Explained truthfully.  

Did anyone out there major in Philosophy? If so, how’s that job making coffee at Barnes & Noble going? Also, can you riddle me this:

Am I an adult because I admitted fault and accepted blame for my (embarrassing but hilarious) mistake? Or am I a child because an astronaut named Fagator was born from my thumb typing?

Endnote: The best part of the woman’s response to my faggotext: “I can’t wait to show this to my husband!”

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[1] Squares, duh.