Blame the Country Code

I had convinced myself that I can live without communicating, and that men are shallow creatures who forget everything while they’re having fun. So I spent a few perfectly satisfying days doing my own thing.

…Until he arrived, called, and said: “I tried to call you from Dubai. But when I entered the country code and stuff, I did something wrong and changed your number. I ended up calling and texting the wrong person!”

So how was he able to call me right now? “I guessed and changed one number.”

I should be too smart to fall for this. Most likely, he was just in a daze for four days with Dubai fever (freedom, gimik, women, fun, blah blah). But he’s sick from the bad weather, overwork, and lack of rest, so I’ll be merciful and accept it for now. I said FOR NOW. After all, we’re just friends.

Right, baby?

Next time, memorize my number, dear. But will that require me to do the same? You see, the only number I know by heart is my ex’s. *sigh* Old memories (like habits) die hard.

Sometimes I don’t understand myself.

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