He WhatsApped me for a HTHT on Sunday. I have yet to reply. It's Shark week and I have simply no mood for anything involving any sort of HTHTs. The prostaglandins in my body are still in active possession of my soul. Until my uterine lining is throughly expelled, nothing matters except myself.
When we separated, he left behind his collection of two Vacheron Constantin, two Hublot, an Audemars Piguet and two or three Rolexes and or Cartier. Only God knows how many are there in his watchbox, which he has forgotten to bring along. Anyway, I dumped it in the corner section of the humid storeroom.
On second thoughts, post his cryptic WhatsApp messages, he probably wants to have a HTHT on the pretext of getting back that box of junk. Not that it matters to me to return it, but I hope the humidity and dampness have impaired these soulless timepieces to an irreparable condition.
If he continues to WhatsApp me for a HTHT and pisses me off at the wrong timing, I might just bring the box to Marina Barrage, dump them into the sea,. He and his pernicious woman from China can scuba for it at their own leisure. A perfect HTHT vacation for themselves.
Wonderful isn't it for a Alpha male and his chinky gold-digger slut?