I can't take it anymore. The dates, the dating, the bars, the restaurants, coffeeshops, the phone calls, the emails, the texts, the texts about the phone calls, the emails about the texts. My head is spinning and A. is looking at me through her fluffy, white, bangs that partially cover her black eyes, like "What the fuck? Pet me." It's too much. Too much people contact. The plans! The plans! Will we meet for dinner or will it be brunch? Just a drink or a drink and a snack? A walk? Well, that means he's unemployed.
Granted, this has a little something to do with D., that rapscallion. It's this: he's fallen off the face of the universe. My universe, that is. After a month (stop rolling your eyes) of emails and texts, he is oddly quiet. We did exchange a simple text on Tuesday, two full days ago. But here is the kicker: he sent me a mass email. Yes, a mass email! He may as well have sent a big picture of a middle finger. A mass email to some fund-raising event in NYC, a wonderful charity event that will be this month. As if! Why I should be included on such a list, when I obviously cannot attend, is beyond me. Yet, my curiosity is piqued.
I smell something fishy. It's a bit too reminiscent of rejection and that is something no woman likes. D. could be married. D. could be busy. Or D. simply lost interest. After all, friends have not so subtly asked, why isn't he calling you? The fact that I even care really bothers me. I see this as a sign: time to take a break. A strike from men!
But hold up: that doesn't mean the blog has to stop. Should I be asked on dates in real-time or should anything else of interest (like real life) pop up, I'll still write. But it's safe to say that the experiment of two dates a week would turn any woman into a bit of a bitch.
Now, time to finish my coffee with hazelnut coffeemate. See you in the real world...sort of.
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