Gag Me With a Spoon

I don't respond. Not about to take one figurative step toward him. Even in cyberspace.

About an hour later, he sends another.

"Hope your day is going great!" he writes brightly followed by a little smiley emoticon. Gag.

I ignore that one too.

Just before lunch and just following a rather heinous budget meeting attended by some grating colleagues, he sends yet another.

Starvation, low blood sugar and aggravation are a deadly combination. The last text about sends me sailing over the edge of reason into a briar patch of meanness.

"How are you doing today? :) "

My patience long gone, though not necessarily all because of Casey, I cock the gun and point it in his direction anyway.

"Cranky and miserable."

Probably not the morning-after-the-big-date response he was naively looking for. But brother, take a hint and go away.

"I figured that since you through (sic) me out last night. LOL :)"

I am not LOL-ing. I am not even L-ing on the inside where it counts. I am however, stifling a dry heave.

I don't respond.

But insecure is as insecure does. An hour later, another text. This one just correcting the grammatical error.

"Threw."

As in "threw up," which I nearly did.