There’s nothing quite as satisfying as cozying up with your exboyfriend’s other exgirlfriend, thus forming a Voltron of exgirlfriend-ness intended to inspire heretofore unheard of heights of social paranoia and micro-crises. Traipsing around town in high heels and on bikes from one bar to another, party stalking like party sharks and posing looking beautiful. And look at you, the two of you, a statuesque semblance of goddesses tainted slightly by the carefree fuckery of always being too good for whatever charity case blue hipster is crawling into bed at the end of the night, and always waking up being too beautiful and too proud for whatever sickly sticky what did I do last night sinking euphoria of bad memories and bad decision-induced hangovers. Which is exactly what you two have in common, having found yourselves alternately and at different times at the end of yet another mediocre penis that was also attached to yet another sniveling, simpleton shallow booze bucket of a boy. It was love at first sight, although maybe it was more like gossip at first sight after the initial “Oh, yeah, we used to fuck the same dude” awkwardness faded away, and now it’s witchy sitting down in parks spewing out ceaseless gossip about what a total piece of shit he is. I approve so hard!!
Between the two of you, it’s easy to pinpoint exactly where he’ll be slinking around, slithering through some star studded gutter licking up little bumps of cocaine from whatever naive future slut is drunk enough to doll it out. Perched taut on the top of a bar stool, neatly watching every coming and going face, quickly judging the amount of nothing that they have to offer while chugging on some cigarette and loudly proclaiming the indifference to this situation.
“Let’s leave now, it’ll be hotter,” says one to the other, as, after ten minutes of sulking sultry through the smokiness and sad songs churning through the stereo, the ennui of an lackadaisical revenge plan settles in.
“Yeah, now it just feels like we’re waiting for him. Let’s get out here.”
Posture like queens and haughty, too, as they strut out the front door and out to some other something to do with the nighttime and all the bad things that happen therein. You go girl.
But, then, there he is, and as soon as he sees the two of them chatting through the air and gliding, and, perfect – it’s so perfect! As they look over with no caring in their eyes and, ooomph! There he goes, just slipping down on his skateboard and landing fat ass first while his doe eyed and dumb looking girl thing – oh, honey, if only you knew – and, here it comes, the peals of soft laughter from their mouths as they wave at his decimated looking ass, nod and wander away, leaving mounds of “We’re too good for you!” hanging heavy in the air while he tries to regain dignity and drag his probably 18 year old naivete bitch into the bar, and run away, ladies, run away, your laughter is so loud, and everybody out here knows that you have achieved a celebration worthy level of success, so pat on the back, and onto the next thing, and the next bar, and the next boy.