There are very few times I use this blog as a personal sounding board. It’s now my 26th birthday, and despite my general distaste for “today I went to Whole Foods and then made a protein-packed paleo Pinterest-procured pizza” writer-driven life posts, this is just something I had to share, if only for other comfortably single women in their 20s.

It all started two weeks ago, when I met some rando at a bar. He was friendly enough, but annoyingly and sloppily drunk, which is why I offered my email address when he asked for my number. We emailed later that weekend, and I met up for a few drinks, which eventually turned to dinner, and then champagne. We had relatively good chemistry, but then, I kinda have chemistry with pretty much everyone, because I really like talking to people and winning over complete strangers.

We had dinner the following weekend (as in, two days ago), and it was equally fun. I invited him to my birthday party, which I’m holding this weekend for my closest 125 friends. He wouldn’t be in town, so he scheduled a weekend in Virginia wine country the following weekend. It seemed a bit much, but I agreed to a singular day trip. When we parted that day, I didn’t think much of anything. In fact, I actually headed out to a bar to meet up with a former lover from 2012, with whom I may or may not entertain a few exchanges here and there. #timesbeing.

So imagine my surprise–which quickly turned to fury–when I received the following text out of the blue yesterday. FYI I have done absolutely no editing on this conversation; the previous dialogue is from Saturday night when he told me not to dress up (I haven’t dressed down since 2k5), and I jokingly asked if I shouldn’t wear my ball gown.

I was stunned into paralysis. I had no words–this never happens–and I just felt short of breath. There were many things that pissed me off, but I was so flustered I couldn’t even articulate them. Again, this is a serious problem for a writer and effusive communicator.

I was still so agitated 10 hours later that I had to leave opera rehearsal early. This is a serious no-no, given that opening night is Saturday at the Organization of American States.

Then I realized: I am on the eve of my 26th birthday. Why am I stewing instead of just expressing what I really feel? There is practically nothing to lose from just telling the truth.

So then it came. “And it came. And it came.” –(illicit tax-payer funded sext. Don’t worry, these have since been screenshotted to his superiors).

Cheers to 26! And may I (and you, and your girlfriends, moms, grandmothers, daughters, etc.) never remain silent in the bombastic, outrageously chauvinistic face of an insecure man. After all, only two months ago did a writer describe me as such when asked about my relationship status: “she blushes, giggling a bit. Translation: Ms. Woodward Pu is quite happy being single.”

Damn straight.