What a phenomenal first date! Every single thing was perfect. There was so much chemistry. It was a long first date – at least 6 hours out and about, followed by a sleepover.
And wow, what a sleepover..!
In the morning, you left for work with a genuine promise to text later that day.
Oh my god. What a wait. I have never been more glued to my phone and on the edge of my seat as much as I was that day.
No message all evening… Fortunately, my housemate was to hand and we had a fabulous night; albeit tainted by your silence.
By Sunday morning, I was feeling very, very low. And very used, stupid, slutty and embarrassed. You had so much charm and there was so much chemistry and you genuinely seemed to like me. My housemates were gunning for you and me to get together. However, your silence meant I was beginning to think I had read you – and our date – wrong. The likelihood of you being just another ‘fuck-boy’ was increasing.
All boys are arseholes; there really are no good ones left.
AND THEN THE IMPROBABLE HAPPENED.
We texted a bit. Things were looking good and I was getting excited. But naturally, I was being really chilled and cool outwardly.
Another excellent date happened on Wednesday and you asked if I was free last weekend.
Inevitably, we had another sleepover because you were so charming and we had so much chemistry (have I said that?) – there was no pressure to shag. You even said that even if we slept together this evening that wouldn’t mean you wouldn’t want to see me on Saturday.
On Thursday morning we both went to work. Saturday was pencilled in.
You said you were shit at texting right from the start, so I wasn’t overly worried we only shared a few texts over the Thursday and Friday. But then Saturday rolled around and I had barely heard from you. By the afternoon, I dropped you a casual text to find out what was happening in the evening. You texted back pretty late saying you couldn’t make it because of family arrangements, but was I free over the bank holiday? I replied a little later.
By Monday, you still hadn’t messaged. I tried to be chilled and reckoned you were just busy: you said you were crap at texting and I had no reason to think you weren’t interested – and we only met a week ago, but we had planned for Saturday night and so I began to panic we wouldn’t see each other.
I have the worst luck with men and I thought I’ve finally met someone who my friends would say is ‘too good to be true’ but I reckoned all of that was bollocks.
Too good to be true doesn’t exist.
Or maybe it does.
By Tuesday evening, I hadn’t heard anything. I was feeling very deflated, used and naive. I sought after my mum’s advice: I sent a passive-aggressive text:
ME: I didn’t see that one coming. What an idiot I am.
Subtext: You fucking smooth arsehole.
HIM: I’ve been such a wally. Should have messaged you ages ago, just been so busy with work. I think your [sic] such a lovely, warm person but I can’t be in a relationship right now. Sorry if I pissed you off.
Subtext: We shagged, and now I’m done.