Well folks, I give up. I officially throw in the towel. I have called off the vigilant phone-watching. Faced the music. Given up the ghost. It ain't happening.
Bachelor #49 is not calling.
I know a lot of people believe a busy guy might not call for a week or more, but I'm pretty sure that is just an exercise in self-delusion, serving only to prolong the agony. We are not 22 here, people. Meeting someone who doesn't make your skin crawl is a rare occasion not to be squandered. We are supposed to be grown-ups, all recent 12-year-old style boy
obsessing notwithstanding. We're too old for silly games and made-up rules. If you are so fortunate as to meet someone with whom you share enough of a mutual attraction that not only does the thought of seeing them naked not make you want to hurl, but you actually want to kiss them, you do not casually go about your business for a week or more, barely giving it a second thought. You act. Fast. The connection you make on a first date is tenuous and needs added reinforcement to make it last. You call/email/text WITHIN 24 HOURS. Especially if you ASKED for that person's phone number AND email address, and talked about what you want to do on your second date.
I can only conclude that, since I was my utterly charming self, of course, and he was clearly falling for my charm, that Bachelor #49 had a change of heart due to his own issues, and is, in fact, far less perfect and way more screwed up than I originally thought.
Of course, we all know that I am appallingly bad at this whole dating garbage and could easily be dead-wrong, and we also know that deep down a little part of me is hoping I am, and one day in August Bachelor #49 will suddenly find a spare minute in his terribly busy life, and I will be the first thing that pops into his head.
But I am also planning my retirement around a big lottery win.
On the plus side, this means more bad dates to write about. Bring on the next 50.
I know a lot of people believe a busy guy might not call for a week or more, but I'm pretty sure that is just an exercise in self-delusion, serving only to prolong the agony. We are not 22 here, people. Meeting someone who doesn't make your skin crawl is a rare occasion not to be squandered. We are supposed to be grown-ups, all recent 12-year-old style boy obsessing notwithstanding. We're too old for silly games and made-up rules. If you are so fortunate as to meet someone with whom you share enough of a mutual attraction that not only does the thought of seeing them naked not make you want to hurl, but you actually want to kiss them, you do not casually go about your business for a week or more, barely giving it a second thought. You act. Fast. The connection you make on a first date is tenuous and needs added reinforcement to make it last. You call/email/text WITHIN 24 HOURS. Especially if you ASKED for that person's phone number AND email address, and talked about what you want to do on your second date.
I can only conclude that, since I was my utterly charming self, of course, and he was clearly falling for my charm, that Bachelor #49 had a change of heart due to his own issues, and is, in fact, far less perfect and way more screwed up than I originally thought.
Of course, we all know that I am appallingly bad at this whole dating garbage and could easily be dead-wrong, and we also know that deep down a little part of me is hoping I am, and one day in August Bachelor #49 will suddenly find a spare minute in his terribly busy life, and I will be the first thing that pops into his head.
But I am also planning my retirement around a big lottery win.
On the plus side, this means more bad dates to write about. Bring on the next 50.