Betches sometimes run into the issue of interacting with clueless people. It might be the try hard frenemy who isn’t getting the hint that she’s not welcome at your pregames every Friday night. You think making her take pics of you and the rest of the group for the first half hour would be enough of a fucking wakeup call, but no she’s continuously showing up with cheap liquor in hand. It could be your weird freshman year roommate who even after graduation still tries to contact you, claiming to feel a “true connection” from your time living together. If watching me sleep is what you call a connection, then I suggest you get some help and leave me the fuck alone.
What’s even worse than these stage five clingers is a guy who won’t leave your apartment the morning after you (after one too many shots of Jose Cuervo) grant him the privilege of going home with you.
These guys are ones who have little to no intuition. Sure they may have been a good backburner bro choice to break your dry spell, but once sunlight starts to peak through the blinds they need to GTFO. They think they’re SUPPOSED to stay until like noon so they don’t look like an asshole, but honestly what’s breaking my heart more is your sad attempt at small talk. At 21, you should probably know how to hold a conversation, but I guess your frat brothers didn’t really help you out with that one.
What’s even worse than the guys who think it’s nice and courteous to not just grab their pants and run (which really confuses me since there wasn’t anyhing courteous about the body shot you took off my stomach last night), are the ones who think morning sex is in the cards.
Most of the time we still wake up a solid 30% drunk the morning after, but even with that buzz still going, I wouldn’t touch you in the morning with a ten-foot pole. Your strictly missionary style (and probably the fact that you didn’t even take your pants off) is permanently engrained in my mind and while I can’t seem to remember where I put my phone or wallet, that painful memory is definitely still lingering.
Whatever their intentions may, be the bottom line is that they need to go. The first step to making them peace the fuck out is to start making excuses about all the shit you have to do that day. You barely do work on Monday-Wednesday, so it may be kind of hard to believe you have a financial literacy webinar at 10 AM on a Saturday that you absolutely cannot miss, but most of these bros are dumb so they’ll believe it.
If you happened to bring home some investment banker/lawyer/doctor/realistic candidate for a husband (read: rich bro whose money is actually his, not his parents’) who knows what’s going on in the world, you need to come up with something better and more believable. A simple upcoming drunk brunch with your friends should get the job done and you will be back to enjoying the sleep you desperately need to forget about your questionable choice in men on Friday nights.