Everything I Want To Say To Girls Who Put Up With Fuckboys

by Charisse Thompson
20th Century Fox

We've all been there.

The days spent staring at your phone wondering why it's been two weeks and you still haven't received a text back from the guy you're dating. You go over every detail of your relationship in your head trying to figure out what you've done wrong.

This is what you've done wrong: You decided to date a fuckboy.

This is what you've done wrong: You decided to date a fuckboy.

Earlier this year, I was sitting at the bar when a guy sat next to me and immediately began to tell me his whole life story.

This wasn't a big deal to me because it happens a lot. (I don't know, I guess I have a kind face?) Anyway, he told me he just found out he was cheated on.

When I'm out having fun, the last thing I want to deal with is depressing news, so realistically my friend and I should've ditched this guy at the bar. But somehow we ended up spending the whole night with him.

At one point, he started crying in the club. When I say crying I mean sobbing -- covering his eyes with his palms and hiccuping type of sobbing. I've never witnessed anything like it in my entire life.

I'm not detailing this to make fun of the poor kid, I'm doing it to point to the fact that at no point in your life should you ever be crying in a club. And certainly not over a fuckboy.

I'd be dishonest if I didn't admit I've dealt with my fair share of fuckboys, and this is because it's inevitable since they've clearly infested the world.

There are more fuckboys than there are rats in Hell's Kitchen, and I can viably attest to this because I basically spent the summer living in Hell's Kitchen and saw more than one hundred rats a day.

Don't get me wrong, girls can absolutely be scrubs too and I know this because I've contemplated becoming one after my most recent breakup. But I decided the world wasn't ready for that.

If a person wants to talk to you, they will talk to you. It sounds really simple, but I think we forget this more than we like to admit.

They won't insult your intelligence by giving lame excuses like they were “too busy," or they “had a long day and didn't have the time to text you." That's complete and utter bullshit.

I've said it before and I'll say it until I die: No one in this whole world is too busy to send a text message.

I've sent texts while at work, in class, in the shower, while presenting, in my sleep, while on a plane – literally anywhere and everywhere. So tell that fuckboy to miss you with the drama.

My mother always told me people make time for people and things that are important to them. If you haven't heard from the person you're interested in for three days, they're definitely not interested in you.

If you're the one who initiates all your conversations or plans, they're definitely not interested in you.

If it's a hassle to get them to leave your apartment and go on a real date, not only are they definitely not interested in you, but they're also 100 percent married. Trust me on this one.

The point of this story is to remind you to keep holding on.

You're worth so much more than constantly wondering where you stand with someone. A person who's worth your time won't leave you guessing, incessantly checking your phone for a text and in emotional turmoil.

You're also better than to ever consider being someone's second choice. You wouldn't want to be second place in a contest, so why settle for it in love.

Sure, scrubs are taking over like the plague and nine out of 10 guys you match with on Tinder are fuckboys, but there's still hope. Definitely not in NYC though, but maybe in Wyoming or something.