Dear _____, you have 72 hours to get in MY BOX. Do you accept the challenge?

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Call me. F**K  this “maybe” shit.


Dear ________,

You have 72 hours,

or 4,320 minutes,

or 259,200 seconds to

get in my box.


My inbox, of course. What other type of box would there be…

So your mission, should you choose to accept, is to call or text me within 72 hours of receiving my phone number or risk losing your spot in line.

And believe me there is a line. Not because I’m a V.S. (Victoria’s Secret) model – to be one I’d have to starve and work out compulsively and ain’t nobody got time for that – but because while you’re busy trying to be “cool” or “swaggerific” by making me wait for you and your ego, I’ve already moved on. and on. and on top. of someone else. but sometimes I prefer to be on the bottom. #alldayeveryway

The “72 hour rule” wasn’t created as some ploy to increase my “swag” (if that’s even possible); it was created because I’m human. When I meet someone that I like – I’m smitten. and excited. and nervous. and  ______ (insert every emotion that you feel when you have a new crush). And then the wait begins – will they call? or text? and if so, WHEN? Each time my phone vibrates (because who actually turns on their ringer these days?) I am secretly hoping/wishing/wanting it to be the one person who can make my heart skip a beat, my stomach flutter with tiny imaginary butterflies, and bring a smile to my face as wide as …well…my ass. Damn, that’s a big smile.

I instituted the “72 hour rule” because I REFUSE to waste more than 72 hours dreaming, wanting or pinning after an individual if their intentions are only fleeting or insincere. There are only so many times that I can draw hearts around your name before I run out of ink. or patience. and then it’s arrows. straight through your heart. or face. or junk. depending on my mood. I did warn you that I have a mood disorder…. #BATSHITCRAZY

Another reason why I created the “72 hour rule” is because I REFUSE to have a “DO NOT ANSWER” listed in my phone contacts. or block someone. To be honest, I don’t even know how to “block” someone. I barely even know how to use my iphone. No, seriously. I only recently learned that you can open text messages and the camera without unlocking the phone. And by recent, I mean last week. #struggle

So if you ask me for my phone number, and I actually give it to you – use it.  Because I only give my number to people that I want to see again. with clothes. and again. without clothes. And if I’m unsure, I will take down your digits with the promise that I “might” call you. Yes, I know it’s just semantics, but if it worked for Bill Clinton – surely it can work for me… #ohsnappppp

So now that y’all know about the “72 hour rule” I can tell you how this “simple” rule resulted in a love quadrangle… oh yes – a QUADRANGLE. Three boys and little ol’ me. I may be outnumbered but…

It wouldn’t be fair otherwise.


So stay turned for Part II. I’ll post it after this commercial break. (insert me taking a nap)


My John HanCOCK


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