The saga continues.

Early Sunday morning, after a night spent watching Megan Fox being chased by alien robots and consuming my body weight in imported beer, I was awoken by the persistent chirp of a newly received text message. The chirp was followed by a chime indicating a new email had arrived. As I struggled to open my eyes towards the light that filters in the rental apartment blinds that are three inches two short for the window, I cursed death upon the sender of these messages. I grasped towards the table that is usually the night time home of my phone, awaking the sleeping dog who sighed heavily as if he had a hangover by association. Blind without the aid of corrective lenses I squinted in an attempt to decipher the little letters on the screen. Suddenly I was no longer sleepy, I sat up quickly, seven decorative pillows falling clumsily to the floor, and exclaimed "fuck" loud enough so that anyone on the street down below probably heard it. The sender of the text message was also the sender of the email.

The text message, which I read first, explained "In case you don't see my other message, I had a great time with you on Friday! When are you in Mil-town this week? Would you be up for trying [insert some restaurant I've never heard of]?"

The email read "Just thought that I'd let you know again that I had a great time with you on Friday. So, what do you say about getting together this coming Friday to go to that Mexican place I told you about? If you're traveling for work, let me know and we can set up another time. Hope you had fun walking your dog."

I guess I should have told him I had to wash my hair instead. Maybe that would have been more obvious.