Mr. Redcoat: The Reunion – Part I

Posted by Princess MoMo on Mar 6 in Adventures of Princess MoMo, Dating

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Guest Submission: Mr. Redcoat’s Rendition

Mr. Redcoat’s Rendition Annotated with Princess MoMo’s Comments

I recently went on a specimen spree – so I have a lot to get through and I’m going to try to make this one quick so that we can move on from this antagonist to new characters.

A tisket, a tasket, let’s set fire to Mr. Redcoat’s basket.

We hadn’t spoken in weeks (roughly three – which is damn near an eternity to me) because he “wasn’t feeling it anymore” when I suddenly withdrew my attention from him.  While sifting through my Gmail inbox, I saw from the periphery of my big brown eyes his name.  Now, what in the fuck was his name doing in my inbox?? I ran a search to confirm that it wasn’t merely an apparition.  Sure as shit, there it was – an invitation to connect on LinkedIn.  Yes, you read that right.  He wanted to virtually connect with me on a professional networking site.  Come on, son.  What a thinly veiled attempt to weasel his way back into MoMoLand.  Because I had actually liked him, I was irritated at his resurfacing, and particularly at his choice of communication channel.  I let the invitation sit in cyber purgatory, where it still remains and belongs.

Nevertheless, a potent substance (vodka) flooded my brain several days later while I was in the city and convinced me that it would be a good idea to text him.  I said, “What are you up to tonight?”  He responded that he was out of town and to let him next time I was in the city.  I said nothing more…until one week later.  Uninfluenced, I texted him on a Thursday letting him know I would be in the city the next day.  We made loose plans to meet up.  I didn’t tell any of my friends because I didn’t want to be that annoying person who talks an epic amount of trash (albeit factual trash) about how terrible of a person someone is and what a huge mistake it all was only to willingly go running back into the arms of the douche.  Sigh, I was that person.

The following night, I met up with my friend who had brought this British plague upon me through her entertainment of Mr. Redcoat’s friend.  Eventually, I told her I was supposed to meet up with him in a bit.  Her response: “Don’t.”  But like a mosquito into the shining light of a zapper that will ultimately shock and kill it, I was drawn to Mr. Redcoat.  Fucking Brits.  Well, a few moments later, Mr. Redcoat texted bailing, stating that he was spending the night elsewhere.  Admittedly, I was disappointed and annoyed.  However, it was nothing a little cinnamon whiskey couldn’t remedy.  Shots. Shots. Shots. Shots. Everybody!

Two hours later, he texted saying he had returned to his Harlem-based apartment.  I didn’t know how I would feel when I saw him.  Would I wonder what the fuck I was ever thinking associating with him?  Would we immediately connect the way we once had?  Would I resent his terrorist-looking face?

I went to see him.  He came down to greet me and he approached me to make human contact.  I backed away.  I need time to warm up in order to allow people into my personal space.  Thus, I don’t like immediate encroachment into the Mo-zone.  We went upstairs.  I saw he was wearing a t-shirt I had gotten him that said, “THAT’S MY BITCH.”  Part of me thought that was cute; the other part deemed it manipulative.  After I warmed up, being near him felt amazing.  We talked until 7:30 a.m. about nothing and everything.  He suggested we cancel all of our respective plans and spend the weekend with each other.


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