another douchebag story

When I was 17, my "boyfriend" (notice the quotation marks, please) waited for me to leave the room and asked Missmo for her phone number and suggested they hang out sometime sans me. Of course, Missmo immediately alerted me to the fact that I was dealing with a douchebag and that was the end of that. Because that, my friends, is a line that is never to be crossed. Lord hath mercy on he who crosseth that line.

It's not crossed very often, save for the few poor slobs who seriously think that there is a real possibility that Missmo and I are closeted lesbians, or worse, girls who kiss girls for attention, and have the audacity to seriously suggest a threesome. In the ten years that we've been friends, however, we've learned to shake that off. I mean, she's a good looking girl, and some like to say that I am as well. As they say, hate the game, not the player.

Recently, though, that line was crossed again by a guy down home with whom I made out like a year ago. We ran into him again at Benny's over Christmas vacation, and as is always the case, we threw a little afterparty at Missmo's place with a few of our friends. We invited him along for old time's sake, for him to promptly pass out sitting up in Missmo's chair, baseball cap and sneakers on and everything. Figuring that this was a good sign that he was too intoxicated to drive home, we left him to sleep it off, and when everybody else left, we went to bed and slept it off ourselves.

Now, anybody who is or knows a girl knows that girls have no problem sleeping in the same bed together. I even know some heterosexual men who have no problem sleeping in the same bed together, but I won't go there. I don't see really what the big deal is. When we woke up in the morning, the dude was gone, but he wasted no time sending us a text message (to Missmo's phone because mine was dead) that went like this:

"Hey - were you guys sleeping in the same bed last night? I should have jumped in between you guys."

Wha?

Not yet sure of the level of creepiness this text achieved, I responded sarcastically:

"Naw, then you would have interrupted our spooning and we would have been unhappy."

To which he responded:

"I wouldn't have interrupted! I luv spooning! Especially with two girls who are bringing sexy back!"

To which there was absolutely no response. "Luv?" "Sexy back?" For real?????? I wrote him off as a tool, and that was that.

Christmas vacation ended, and I went home. Missmo saw him out a couple weeks later, and being the polite and cordial girl that she is, said hello. We figured there was no harm in being friendly, so she would chat him up when she saw him out and we thought nothing of it.

That is, until one day, she received this text message:

"Anybody up for a mustache ride?"

Wha??? Is this even for real???? WHO SAYS THAT????

Needless to say, that was the line, he totally crossed it, and she hasn't seen or heard from him since. However, the text did land him a spot in the elite group of men that I will blog about, those who are such douches that I have no shame blathering their business to the internet.
So there you go. Another douchebag story. About a guy who once asked my best friend if she was up for a "mustache ride."