“he reminds me of an ashtray”

There’s a boy that I know who sucks. He sucks because we had this “thing” (my family hates this phrase, they want to know who I’m dating, not who I’m talking tosnapchatting, or whose instagram posts I’m liking… but like dating is just not really a possibility for my life right now tbh), and now we don’t. Like, it’s neither of our faults, except for his.

My friend Taylor told me she doesn’t like him. And when I asked why she told me “he reminds me of an ashtray.” I thought maybe it was because he’s a little bit scruffy, and informed her that he doesn’t even smoke. But apparently Taylor is a poet, and she meant it more analogically. “He just goes around collecting bits of people” <beautiful, like art almost> “and trying to make a new, whole cigarette.” <more of a stretch, because I don’t think that’s how ashtrays work>

Either way, it was a cool comparison I thought. The problem is, I keep dealing with this same stupid ashtray. And the amount of pieces of me he’s collected is absolutely crazy. Because I know he’s not trying to do anything except bop through life, figuring out how many cigarette butts he can get his grimy ashtray hands.

I’d like to also point out that he is not actually smooth or cool or suave or any of those terms that attract the opposite sex. The amount of cigarettes who he convinces to put out in his tray are minimal (NOT THE SAME AS PUTTING OUT MOM, IT IS JUST AN ANALOGY OF CIGARETTES BEING PUT OUT). But it’s still annoying that he can’t just figure out what he wants, and stick to that instead of trying to buy me a drink after 2 months of not talking.

Taylor just told me another analogy while I was writing this very eloquent post. (Professor Fleming I know this doesn’t fit my personal brand but sometimes, I just need to vent so this should not affect my grade, ty). Her new analogy: ashtray boy is not just an ashtray, he’s also a kid in a candy store. He walks up to the gumball machine, pays the price and easily gets his gumball. She says when I’m with him, I’m a gumball. He’s interested for 5 seconds until the flavor is lost, and then he discards me and finds another quarter for the next easy score. But the thing is, I am not a gumball. According to Taylor, I am that pink bear in the claw machine. The bear that you have to put in quarter after quarter, spending countless hours in an attempt to achieve success and win your prize (the prize being idk, like a date with yours truly). And the pink bear is so hard to get that once you have it, you have to AT LEAST keep it for like a month before you let your mom donate it to goodwill. But I’m waiting for the right person to come along, snatch me up, and want to keep holding on. The guy who won’t get tired of me after 5 seconds (or 45). The guy who won’t discard me for the next sexy stuffed hippo that crosses his path.

Writing about stupid boys makes it less annoying and more like a funny story from someone else’s life. As a disclaimer, this ash tray is actually not a terrible person but maybe just a little lost. He is a boy after all. But I’ve now officially procrastinated my 3 final projects for as long as possible, and need to divert my attention there.



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