My cousin refuses to eat fish. Not allergic or anything, he just won't do it.
My best friend, she won't touch anyone's feet.
My ex-girlfriend, well, she refused to do a lot of things. I never thought we'd make it, anyway.
Everyone's got a quirky aversion to a particular behavior, or an activity they feel isn't kosher. Mine is text-messaging. I refuse to send them, and receiving them is akin to raking bamboo chutes against my soul. Every time that little yellow envelope shows up on my LCD screen, accompanied by the faux-cheery melody, it reminds me that someone wants something from me, but I'm not important enough to warrant the extra 10-seconds with a phone call.
I feel empty and used. Just like Mother always said I would.
Or maybe she was talking about putting out. The Nyquil is kicking in and I can't remember.
One time, a friend tried to steal my phone to send a text-message to a random person in my contact list, despite threats of a violent bukkake session if she did. Then the cunning vixen asked what exactly "bukkake session" is, so I went to my computer to show her. But as my back was turned, she sent the text. I tried to stop the madness, but it was too late.
Two minutes later, my phone started vibrating erratically on my desk. So I did what I normally do when the pants are down for some bukkake fun, and someone calls. I picked it up.
It was the random recipient of the text. She went on and on about what a terrible day she had in regards to family and work. Well, that all changed when she received my text, thinking my desire to see how she was doing overcame my phobia of sending an electronic salutation in the form of a binary sequence. In retrospect, what transpired is just as much her fault for conjuring the ill-conceived notion that I care that much.
Nevertheless, I explained the situation to her: I didn't send the text, but not to worry, the pants were off and I was in the middle of punishing the person who did.
For the sake of decency and space, I'll omit her exact words. Long-story short: she called me a bunch of names, then hung up. The next day, she sent me a text-message of a lone sad face. It looked like this: L
Some people just don't get it.
Text-messaging is a silly means of communication. While there are a few uses, ("Brower, any1?" or "Party @ John's @ 11," and "I'm pregnant,") it reminds me too much of high school boys and A.I.M. Those guys who'd come into school on Monday talking about how they spat "mad good" game to some girl… over the Internet. Then said girl would walk into the class and they'd shut the hell up because they might come off as Clarke Gabel reciting Shakespeare on A.I.M, but in the real world, they sound more like a voice-cracking, pre-pubescent Gilbert Godfrey.
If anything, not sending texts is an excellent excuse for ignoring people. Just yesterday, I used it on my boss:
Boss: Why didn't you show up for work Tuesday? I called you three times, and even stopped by your dorm.
Me: Oh, I'm so sorry. Didn't I tell you that I don't send text-messages?
Boss: What the hell are you talking about? You're fired.
Trust me. They did studies, you know. 60 percent of the time, it works every time.
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