hung-over dialed

It was 7:45 am.

I hung over dialed.

I knew I shouldn't have done it, but who can argue with my id?

Amazingly, she picked up.

She cleared her throat and said, "Hello?" without an attitude.

"It's only me..."

"Hey..."

"Look it, I don't have any reason for acting like I did tonight. Quite frankly, I was sexed up. I was horny as shit. That's the truth."

"Okay."

"So I was never a Navy Seal...I don't even swim...I was also never a Secret Service agent...I don't even own a weapon...what was the other thing I told you?"

"F.B.I psyop."

"I'm not an F.B.I. psyop-"

"A screenwriter, beloved by Steven Spielberg and Martin Scorsese..."

"I'm not that, either..."

"Dog food taster, Professional mourner, Professional sleeper, Snake Milker, Crime Scene Cleaner, Professional Cuddler, Dog Psychologists, Golf Ball Diver..."

"Yeah, I'm sorry, I've never been any of those things. I was just trying to impress you."

"By telling me you were a snake milker? Why would that impress me?"

"I mean, you could have been a herpetologist. How would I know?"

"Okay, I'm gonna go."

"Wait, before you go. Was there anything remotely interesting that's the wrong word...would anything I would have...were you horny for me? At all? Or was I just this jagoff, pot-smoking loser...oh, I'm also an open miker."

"A what?"

"Tryna be a comedian, so I go to many open mikes. You try out your material and see how the audience reacts. That kinda shit."

"Okay, well, that doesn't impress me either. Are you a good man? Are you kind? Will you listen to me and refrain from offering any solutions? Can we laugh and have fun together? Are you any sort of provider? Will you protect me? Take me to doctor's appointments? Smile at and with me? Laugh at and with me? If you're at least that...I suggest going out on a date with you. I'm not gonna sleep with you. I'm not ready for that. I'll consider it, but I'm not tumbling into bed because you're a golf ball diver."

"Well, now, that's a transferrable skill. Muff diver?"

There was a silence.

Why do I always blow it with women at this stage? Muff diver? Jesus Christ, stop these references from Penthouse letters when I was 14 years old.

"I'm going back to bed."

She was done with me. Who could blame her?

"Good night," she said.

"Can I call you next week?"

"You can call me as long as you never mention that you're a professional cuddler ever again. EVER again."

"I will not."

"Have a good night," and she hung up.

"Thanks, I...will. Have a good night, baby."