video games ✘ clifford.

0.8

Let's just say I was up all night.

What I would usually be doing was stalking about on tumblr, liking wierd posts from people with urls like 'satans-anus' and 'urbancatfitters'. There would be a bag of hot cheetos by my side, and everything would be right in the world.

BUT NO.

Michael texted me when we were both home, and I was starting my late night blogging ritual. I was wearing my orange duckie pants and ultra fuzzy polka dot socks. We were out of hot cheetos, so I sadly had to settle for cheez-its. Don't get me wrong, cheez-its are amazing, but they are no hot cheeto.

Anyway, that's beside the point. The real reason why I was up all night was because while I was not even three posts down my dash, my phone rang.

Incoming Text From: 555-2382

Hey babe, it's Michael x

Now, this sent me into a sudden wave of shock, as the furby had called me babe.

Am I babe?

Then I thought, wait, how the hell do I reply to a text from a boy? Especially when it's 2:00am, and he had called me babe. Like, we'd met that day. This is big for me. I swear to god that I probably chomped off all the nails on 4 fingers.

So then, with fumbling fingers that had stubby nails, I wrote out,

Hey x -blondie

It was one of the most flirty things I've done. I was sort of proud of myself, being all flirt flirt with a boy I'd met that day. He even had a nickname for me. I called him Furby. Furby is actually undeniably attractive, and that meant he made me nervous. Boys in general made me nervous. Even the weedies were making me nervous.

Then I changed my duckie pants for PJ shorts and turned the AC on because I was sweating like a pig.

My phone buzzed. I jumped in surprise.

So, what ya doin blondie? (; x -furby

Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.

This boy is giving me heart palpitations and he probably doesnt even know it. Or he's plotting to stop my heart like an evil person of evil evilness.

It wastoo late for my brain to be awake. Or early. I'm not even sure anymore.

Just on tumblr, ya know? hbu? -blondie

Whoops forgot the x. Just gonna have to roll with it.

He can live without a letter I think. I think so, maybe, I don't know. Ask Obama. He holds all the answers. Maybe he can tell me why Furby's hair is green.

Nothing really, I wanted to talk to u. x -furby

He wanted to talk to me. Michael aka furby stayed up to talk to me. Aw, I'm flattered.

Can you send me a pic of u for ur contact pic? - furby

That came in only a few seconds after he said he wanted to talk to me. Then I realized that I'm ugly and should probably fix myself. My legs dashed to the mirror hanging on my door, and I let my hair out of the bun. Frizzy. I brushed it. Frizzy. I put it into a slightly messy sidebraid. Frizzy but made me look cute.

So then I just took a picture of myself. I was too tired to realize that I looked like cow dung, but I sent it anyway.

here ya go, do the same for mine? -blondie [image attatched]

I waited for a minute. There was a handful or cheez-its halfway inside my mouth when I recieved a picture of a shirtless Michael that I swear to god almost made me melt. It wasn't even a shirtless tool selfie. It was just him, regular green hair, regular pale-as-snow skin, smiling like an idiot. But I could just see that there was no clothing on his shoulders and I don't think that they made tube tops for guys. He could have been entirely naked for all I knew.

...did I just recieve nudes?

I told myself to snap the hell out of it. Those were not nudes. Michael wouldnt send me nudes. A shirtless un-tool picture, but not nudes. He was probably wearing a pair of the most unrevealing pants ever. Yeah.

thanks x -blondie

And that ended the conversation. I wanted to talk to him all night long but then after that he didn't respond.

I saved 555-2382 as Furby in my phone. But that's not where I went to bed. I shut my laptop and turned off my phone. Then I just thought until the sun came up.