I got a story to tell...
Back in '08, I had just broke up with a chick I had been dating for 2 years. Meet this new girl, and we had been kicking it...going out and smashing...but not officially dating (at least in my eyes). My ex at the time was on some "I'm gonna get this nicca back shyt" so she would be texting and calling all the time on some "let's get back together" steez, but I tried to be righteous and leave it be. At the time we broke up, we were living together, so when we split I moved to a townhouse about 5-10 minutes away.
Despite my best intentions, the new chick used to always ask me if I was over my ex, and I'd always be like "yea, that was that past" type shyt, but she never quite bought it. In all actuality, I didn't want to get back with my ex, but her sex game was on point, and she was letting it be known that I could still have that when I wanted it.
So one night, after I left Happy Hour I happened to get a text from my ex, which was a picture of her in some lingerie with a msg "u wanna cum over?"
so my drunk ass drove over there, and ended up staying the night. First thing I did as I got out of the car was put my phone on silent, and due to the events that unfolded all that night, I didn't really look at my phone once we got to the business.
My alarm stays set M-F, so when it went off, I hopped up so I could go back to my place and get ready for work. I had like 40 texts and 10 missed calls, the majority of which was from the new chick. So I tell my ex bye, walk out the door, get to my car...and see that 3 of my damn tires have been slashed. While I'm in that
"oh Hell No" confused state, I start looking at my texts and find out that the new chick had been in a car accident with an 18-wheeler. So I call Grady and they tell me that the chick had already been discharged, so I'm calling her to make sure if she's ok and keep getting voicemail.
Long story short...I end up getting my car towed to a tire spot, buying 4 new tires, and am 4 hours late for work. I caught up with the new chick when I got off, and stopped by her apartment to check on her, and she was doing fine...no scratches, bruises, not shook up, nothing. She asked what happened to me the night before, so I told her that I had some drinks with my co-workers after work, and then went home and passed out. She starts guilt-tripping me on some "I really needed you...and you were nowhere to be found...am I even important to you?" shyt,
and we have the "talk" about if we're in a relationship and all that jazz. At the point, I'm like I guess we are.
Fast forward about 11 months into the relationship. We sitting at the crib drinking and talking and she asks me if I have any secrets that I haven't told her. I'm like, "nah, I keep it pretty honest with you. Do you?"
so she's like..."You remember that night your tires got slashed?" I'm on some other shyt because I had never told her about that shyt....so I respond with "what you mean?"
So she replies, "Don't play, nikka. That night you got your tires slashed when you was fukking with your old bytch. I was the one that did it..."
I couldn't even really get mad at that point, because I had to go change our daughter's diaper.
Drop your grimy chick stories, brehs...
Back in '08, I had just broke up with a chick I had been dating for 2 years. Meet this new girl, and we had been kicking it...going out and smashing...but not officially dating (at least in my eyes). My ex at the time was on some "I'm gonna get this nicca back shyt" so she would be texting and calling all the time on some "let's get back together" steez, but I tried to be righteous and leave it be. At the time we broke up, we were living together, so when we split I moved to a townhouse about 5-10 minutes away.
Despite my best intentions, the new chick used to always ask me if I was over my ex, and I'd always be like "yea, that was that past" type shyt, but she never quite bought it. In all actuality, I didn't want to get back with my ex, but her sex game was on point, and she was letting it be known that I could still have that when I wanted it.
So one night, after I left Happy Hour I happened to get a text from my ex, which was a picture of her in some lingerie with a msg "u wanna cum over?"
so my drunk ass drove over there, and ended up staying the night. First thing I did as I got out of the car was put my phone on silent, and due to the events that unfolded all that night, I didn't really look at my phone once we got to the business.My alarm stays set M-F, so when it went off, I hopped up so I could go back to my place and get ready for work. I had like 40 texts and 10 missed calls, the majority of which was from the new chick. So I tell my ex bye, walk out the door, get to my car...and see that 3 of my damn tires have been slashed. While I'm in that
"oh Hell No" confused state, I start looking at my texts and find out that the new chick had been in a car accident with an 18-wheeler. So I call Grady and they tell me that the chick had already been discharged, so I'm calling her to make sure if she's ok and keep getting voicemail.Long story short...I end up getting my car towed to a tire spot, buying 4 new tires, and am 4 hours late for work. I caught up with the new chick when I got off, and stopped by her apartment to check on her, and she was doing fine...no scratches, bruises, not shook up, nothing. She asked what happened to me the night before, so I told her that I had some drinks with my co-workers after work, and then went home and passed out. She starts guilt-tripping me on some "I really needed you...and you were nowhere to be found...am I even important to you?" shyt,
and we have the "talk" about if we're in a relationship and all that jazz. At the point, I'm like I guess we are.Fast forward about 11 months into the relationship. We sitting at the crib drinking and talking and she asks me if I have any secrets that I haven't told her. I'm like, "nah, I keep it pretty honest with you. Do you?"
so she's like..."You remember that night your tires got slashed?" I'm on some other shyt because I had never told her about that shyt....so I respond with "what you mean?"
So she replies, "Don't play, nikka. That night you got your tires slashed when you was fukking with your old bytch. I was the one that did it..."
I couldn't even really get mad at that point, because I had to go change our daughter's diaper.
Drop your grimy chick stories, brehs...
at the cunning and guile.
