When my siblings don’t text me back:
Damn it, I am so sure that butthole is reading that text out loud to all their friends and laughing at me being weird. OR PROBABLY LAUGHING BECAUSE I AM SO FUNNY. Dude, screw those guys, I AM funny. I am going to reread the text I just sent three times to reassure myself how freaking hilarious I am.
….Yup. So funny. I don’t even care if they read it to everyone. I hope they do. Their friends are probably all like, “Dude your sister is so hilarious! Why isn’t she famous?!?” Hell, why AM I not famous??
…I should probably reread that text four more times to make sure it was legitimately funny.
…Okay, totally funny. …Maybe.
When Tom doesn’t text me back:
Man I really hope he is not dead. That would be the worst. Like if he was just sitting on his couch playing Halo and someone busted in and stabbed him and his phone was just sitting there on the table with blood splattered on it, vibrating and vibrating with nobody to pick it up and tell me he was dead. And then I would eventually find out and I would have to call his parents. And I don’t even have their phone number. I would have to get it from his bloody phone. And the murderer would probably steal his Xbox and then I would have to buy one and then I’d be out $300 AND a boyfriend. Maybe I should call him. No. That is so clingy. I am not clingy. I won’t call until it’s been 6 full minutes since I texted him. It’s pretty unlikely someone would murder him in only 5 minutes.
…Okay it’s been like 4 minutes, that’s probably long enough, right?