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Dear Readers,
For more than a year, I’ve
read your letters, in which you pour your hearts out about the ups and downs of the
single life. Now I think it’s time to tell you about something that recently happened to
me.
On Saturday, I finally got around to giving my number to a man whom
I’ve been interested in. Let’s call him Jim. When I gave Jim my number, his reaction to
my flirtation was even better than I’d expected. I was going to use a hit-and-run
approach (or should I say a “hit on” and run?)
I handed him my card with a
simple, “Call me sometime if you’d like to get together.”
Then, as I was
about to walk away, he said, “How about tonight?”
After we discussed our
schedules and decided another night would be better, Jim and I chatted and laughed for an
hour. I already knew where he works, where he holidays, and that we take our coffee the
same way. At this point, I was getting a closer glimpse into his sense of humour and his
priorities, and I was finding out we had other things in common. Then we parted after
scheduling a date for our earliest mutual availability.
The plan was to
meet on Monday night after Jim finished his afternoon shift. Nothing fancy—just going for
a drink. He said he would call me Monday during the day and then see me after work. His
sincerity and interest shone through as he looked at me with his hypnotic blue eyes—the
same blue eyes which were, no doubt, one of the features that had attracted me to him in
the first place.
I could tell we were going to have an enjoyable date on
Monday.
And I’m sure we would have, if he’d called or shown
up.
Yes. I was stood up.
Was I heartbroken? No. As I said,
we were just at the getting-to-know-each-other stage. Was I confused? Heck, yes! Ticked
off? Shocked? Was my ego bruised? You bet. But mostly I was confused. Had I misread his
attraction? No way. That was real. At some point during the two days after we’d made
plans, had he acquired a case of cold feet? Perhaps.
Did he just change
his mind? Run off to Vegas to marry an ex-girlfriend? Accidentally wash my number with
his laundry? If so, did he have a team of experts now struggling to decode the tattered
card and the faded digits while he waits eagerly with tear-filled eyes? Anything’s
possible.
Maybe he was hit by a bus while rushing to see
me.
Yes, I like that explanation best. I’m not Deborah Kerr, and I didn’t
get stood up at the Empire State Building. But at least the hit-by-a-bus explanation has
An Affair to Remember ring to it—instead of the inexplicable feeling one gets
after being stood up.
Now that I’ve shared my sad, embarrassing story
with you, I could go off on a bitter rant about how behaviour like Jim’s is inexcusable
and lacks any courtesy whatsoever. But that’s a given.
So what advice do I
have for myself?
Well, it’ll looks like it’s time for me to practice what
I preach to those who read my columns. You’ve listened to my satirical humour and my
insistence we must not allow one person’s actions to taint our view of the opposite sex.
Now it’s my turn to take my own advice.
My profound statement of the week
is as follows: those who get stood up and walk proudly away live to date another
day.
Have a question, a thought, or a story to share (anonymity
guaranteed)? E-mail Christine at: single@keynotebooks.com
