You wake up early when you have a sleepover to fix yourself up, because you don’t want him to see you without makeup on.
He introduces you to his friends, but only because he lives with them.
And try as you might, you see no sign of knowing recollection in their faces when he says your name.
The idea of introducing him to your parents is straight up laughable.
Mostly because he’d have to be sober, and
you’ve never even him sober. All of your “dates” start with alcohol and end with semen.
You’re excited about going to the library together to study, because you feel like it’s a big step forward in your relationship.
He doesn’t pay for you at least 65% of the time.
There are no photos of you together on social media.
You get nervous that you’re not going to hear from him after you throw a bitch fit.
Notice I didn’t say you don’t
throw bitch fits. Those can happen at any point in a relationship. You still consult your friends on how to respond to his texts.
You put on makeup when you send him Snapchats.
You stalk his social media regularly, but would feel embarrassed if you liked a picture more than two weeks back.
part of your plans. You meet up after your plans. It would be weird for all parties involved if your friends came into your room in the morning and he was there.
Even though you text constantly, you’d be uncomfortable calling him on the phone.
He’s gone stag to a date function, or God forbid with someone else, while you two were…whatever you are.
You don’t just kiss. You only make out.
He refuses to watch the Kardashians with you like his heterosexuality depends on it.
When you have your period, you reschedule your hangout, instead of just, you know, hanging out.
You only know where he is because you stalked his best friends’ geotags, not because he told you.
You’re not in a relationship on Facebook.
You’re not even
friends on Facebook. His bed is a cuddle-free zone.
You haven’t formed a weird little club with the other girlfriends.
You don’t talk every single day, without question.
He wears whatever he wants, and you have absolutely no say in it.
You feel a small sense of obligation to give his clothes back to him, post-shack.
He’s not your go-to person when something exciting, big, or small, happens to you in your life.
And you’re not his.
He doesn’t care if other guys hit on you.
You have awful, jack rabbit sex, because you’re too afraid to tell him what you want.
Weekends are “What are
you doing?” instead of “What are we doing?” You’ve never talked about anything serious with each other.
He’s never heard you burp.
LOL, stubble? No way.
He thinks your only comfy clothes are yoga pants and bralettes. If he saw you in your greasy bun, ripped field hockey sweats, and t-shirt with the holes in it, he might not recognize you.
Define “sober sex.”
Like is it morning sex? No? Just sex when alcohol hasn’t been in your system for 24 hours? Okay, yeah. You don’t have that.
He’s never said he was your boyfriend.
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