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.
…
…
Thursday.
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…
