Most Sunday mornings, the first thing I do is frantically check my phone and scroll through my history from the night before to discover who I textually harassed. That’s right, textually harassed. I admit that I am, like so many others out there, a textual harasser. No matter how hard I try, I just can’t stop. I’ve tried erasing certain guys’ numbers
from my phone or even not having my phone with me all night, but I always end up writing some sloppy, embarrassing
message to some random dude, which never results in anything but me falling
asleep alone, phone in hand.
This sounds pretty sad, I know, and I used to resent this self-destructive behavior, wallowing in post-text shame. But after three years in college, I’ve learned to embrace it. In fact, I’m proud to be a textual harasser. In my opinion, a little love or lust note never hurt anyone.
Furthermore, why not just sack up and go out on a limb to get what you want? The worst thing that can happen is that you don’t get a response, but who cares? At least you tried. Furthermore, the victims ask for it, and deep down, I know they love it. Who doesn’t enjoy getting a 4:00 a.m. invite to “come snuggle?” They just don’t have the balls to text you themselves—at least that’s what I keep telling myself. Thank god I can erase my phone history.
