So, again I gave my number to a really nice looking guy the other night. Then, I came home, kicking myself on the inside for doing that. A woman doesn’t give a dude her number. Well, not most of the time. The guy is supposed to have more balls than the woman and walk over to her to begin down their road to happiness. Yet, I am usually the Juliet that has to tell Romeo that he seems to have missed a turn or two.
I walked over to this nice looking brute as my evening of singing to the bar had come to an end. I had drank enough of my sorrows away so I needed to brighten up my evening. I only had the idea of getting to know Mike a little further because we had been chatting quite a bit that night. I was being drawn into his Lions hating, programmerish world. But, two days later, my phone remains empty. Jerk.
This makes me wonder that maybe I am missing a piece of a puzzle in my life. Perhaps that is why I am stuck on this lonesome road. Can I not just use duct tape, or staples to hold that hole together, so that I can just move onto the more important issues I need to be dealing with? Super glue can work for everything, too.
I mean, come on men! If I have no problem walking up to you and introducing myself, flirting the night away, once I handed you my number, don’t make me feel like I wasted my time. I could have walked over to guy number two if I would have known that YOU weren’t going to give me the time of day. One date is not going to kill you. Or, you could have given me the old “thank you, but I’m seeing someone” excuse instead of making me ice cream my sorrows away as I sit by my phone for days waiting in anticipation. Jerk.
Whatever his reason, I press on. I obsess over my dating sites, my hope level set at a three. I don’t want to keep it too high, just so I can fall back down to the rocks of glass in life when I receive no response from the eighteenth dude that week that I had sent a “Hey!” to. Receiving no response, I press on. My road in life will never end, alone or not, I press on.