If it’s not you, it’s clearly me.

That apprehensive feeling before a first date is great; it’s what stops you from wearing the wrong thing or saying something stupid.  And if it doesn’t become full-blown terror, things tend to pan out well.

Nearly two weeks ago I had the best date I’ve had in ages.

I know this because I felt extremely chuffed walking home (that evening – alone!) and because he texted me as soon as I walked through the door saying what a great date it had been and he hoped to see me soon.

So, abiding by my new-found-mantra of don’t be keen, I waited for a text.  He seemed keen on Thursday night, so why wouldn’t he text?!

Friday night came and went – fair enough, it’s been a day.

Saturday came and went; okay, maybe you’re busy.

Sunday evening approached. Surely you’ll be watching shitty Sunday TV and drop me a line.


It’s been a week.  Hello?  Anything?

Friday afternoon: I’ve had a manic week, maybe you need a causal prompt.  Blah blah blah, ‘are you about this weekend?’

Saturday afternoon.  It’s not looking good.

By Sunday evening, I’ve thrown in the towel; number deleted.  What a bugger.

I’m wondering what on Earth could have happened?

  • Was he a bit pissed and regretted the ‘great date’ text?
  • Did he have another date soon after and she was more his type?
  • Do I totally cock-up dates?

Whichever way, single life looks set to last…


Photo by Matthieu Huang on Unsplash

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