In light of suffering the ultimate (but predictable) humiliation last week, I planned a relatively quiet weekend sans men and doing my best to avoid anything or anyone who might conjure up unwanted reminders of things I didn’t want to remember (oh, I do have a way with words, do I not?).
Then late Friday night I receive a txt from 27 sometime around midnight while I was still avidly devouring my latest Kindle purchase and skilling myself up on the art of “Cosmic Ordering”:
“long time no speak, are you out and about tonight?”
(at 3 minutes to midnight my hackles go up as I envisage this being the precursor to what is often referred to as “The Booty Call”- especially as it has been about two weeks since our last exchange)
After some general chit-chat he finally announces:
“So, should we have met up by now?”
Obvious answer: “Yes, duh.”
Actual answer: “Well, I’ve been wondering if you were going to get around to it. Are you suggesting you would like to revisit the idea of coffee?”
To which he agreed. So, we made plans to catch up Saturday afternoon (after the football, of course). We would get in touch after the game and organise the finer details such as: location.
After the game on Saturday I was feeling like I would probably prefer a glass of vino in a beer garden somewhere to enjoy the sunshine. So, I sent a txt message enquiring if he would like to change the plan from coffee to a drink somewhere? He might have needed something stronger anyway, given the home team lost.
Two hours later at 5pm I get a response agreeing to the new plan and asking me if I had anything specific in mind? (Is this man incapable of making any decisions?)
So, exactly 14 minutes later I respond with a few ideas ranging from the casual beer garden to a few more “up-market” venues.
1 hour later- still nothing.
2 hours later- I send a further message…did the text get lost in the cellular network-o-sphere?
By 8:30pm I was, understandably, not impressed. I showered, snatched up my Kindle and returned to my study of “The Law of Attraction”- clearly this is something I need to study because I obviously suck at it.
18 hours later, while the rest of the world dwells on more sobering thoughts and prepares to Remember, I am on my way home from a very enlightening trip to the hardware store (who knew there were 20 different types of putty?), when my phone chirps at me.
“I’m really sorry about the non-response. I think a rather celebratory Friday and Saturday caught up with me, I fell asleep!”
Ladies and gentlemen. He fell asleep.
Seriously, where DO I find these bozos?
A myriad of thoughts whirred through my brain. My first thought was to embrace my current feelings of indignation and ignore the message and ignore HIM, forever.
My second thought was to give him a snippy “ok.”
My third thought, which of course turned out to be the one upon which I decided to act, was more on the snarky end of the spectrum:
“I suppose it’s feasible that one could fall into what can only be described as an all-out COMA in the space of 15 minutes it took me to respond to a message, and remain in such a state, oblivious to the world, for a further 18 hours before suddenly remembering they had somewhere to be.
Though, I must admit, I’m not entirely convinced…
Points for the follow-up apology, though.”
To this, I expected silence. I expected that to be the end of it and for him to sign off, and write me off as falling into the “too hard” basket. But instead I received a further response:
“It comes as a result of a hangover and pushing through the next day. I would not have been much company anyway…feeling slightly sheepish/guilty.”
Dammit. My smug self-righteous satisfaction evaporated.
Now I just feel like a total bitch.
Maybe he really did fall asleep. Maybe he really does sleep like he’s in a coma, just because I’m wake up at the slightest noise, doesn’t mean everyone else does. Maybe he really didn’t hear the message.
Maybe I should spend less time reading airy fairy nonsense about how to speak to your guardian angel, and focus on more serious literature written by the likes of Ellen Fein and Sherrie Schneider:
Maybe he wasn’t out with his mates, or with some other woman who posed a more favourable option at the last minute.
But maybe he was – and he would have every right to, given our er – acquaintanceship – has comprised only one actual meeting, followed by months of relatively innocuous text messages.
My problem was that despite not having actually decided on a venue, we had clear plans for a date on Saturday and I was effectively “Stood Up”. And, though I had no other plans, he did not know that, and I stupidly sat around waiting for his response until far too late in the evening!
The whole thing really ticked me off bigtime.
Probably, I was overreacting.
Probably, my overreaction was (at least partially) a result of last week’s humiliation.
Probably, I should just get over it and let the poor sod off the hook, but part of me just isn’t sure if I should bother giving this guy another shot, even if he does ask.
Probably, I’m just not up to the task of teaching a 27 year old how he should treat a woman he is interested in dating.
After all, who am I to be teaching such things? This 33 year old can’t even figure out what she wants until after it’s about 18 months too late…!