I’m in need of a mechanic to give my love life an overhaul; that or an engineer to fix my radar senses. My gaydar is still in fine working order but it appears my date radar is way off. A lovely evening is a lovely evening is a lovely evening right? Apparently not. I had a lovely evening on my date the other night, the signs were all pointing to yes, okay there wasn’t a kiss at the end of the evening but hey he’s shy so I can overlook that. I skipped home happy as a pig in muck and looking forward to another evening in the company of Scoobs.
Fast forward to Friday and I’ve heard diddly squat from him. The lovely evening where we talked non stop, flirted, connected and laughed was obviously a figment of my overactive imagination and we must have actually been sat there in churchlike silence awkwardly sipping our drinks and wondering when we could escape. Silly me for getting those two things mixed up.
You’ll see from the previous posts on the subject that I like to make excuses to make things cognitively easier on myself. So, in no particular order here are a smattering of the excuses I’ve cooked up as to why Scoobs hasn’t been in touch:
- He’s really busy – too busy all week to send a single text?
- No, he’s really busy – see above and stop kidding yourself
- His crappy old phone might have died – he has your email address; if he liked you he’d get in touch by hook or by crook
- He’s stressed because of his working week and the fire – that stressed that he can’t send a single text? Surely speaking to someone he likes would release some stress, no?
- Did I mention he’s really busy? – enough already
- Maybe he’s fallen into a hole or lost the use of both his arms? – Scraping. The. Barrel.
- Busy? – No! Shut up shut up shut up stop kidding yourself.
I think the lesson to learn from this is that if a man liked me he would call me or text me and ask when he could see me again. He would not ignore me due to any of the cack excuses mentioned above. So, I suppose I need to refine my idea of what a good date constitutes. I bet if I were to go on a date and be bored out of my brain all night, contemplate poking myself in the eye with my fork and or squeezing my sizeable arse out of the bathroom window just to escape, I bet he’d be the guy who’d call the next day and ask when he could see me again. That ladies and gents is what is called sod’s law.
ps) Tomorrow is the first in the series of guest blog posts, from Guest Blogger Lorns. It’s a corker so watch out for it!