Fallout

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You’re probably wondering what happened with Thursday Guy post-Perfect Message.  (Don’t worry, he didn’t order ice-cream.  And if he had, Exception #1 closely followed by #3 and #4 would probably have applied, since he took me to a Michelin-starred restaurant for our first date.)  Well, Wandering Hands is what happened, and we know how that one panned out.

Pass the Ben and Jerry’s.

CC Image courtesy of theimpulsivebuy on Flickr

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The Exception and the Rule

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I came home the other day to a Facebook message from Thursday Guy.  It was perfect, except that it had taken four days, and four (for me) sleepless nights, to materialise. In that time, I had been through the gamut of possible reasons for lack of response, and come to the following conclusions:

  1. Sudden death – even at 38, this was unlikely.CC Image courtesy of David Masters on Flickr
  2. Amnesia – just unlikely.
  3. No internet access – he works in London, at a computer …
  4. Lovely weather so he is not on his computer in the evenings because he wants to make the most of the sun – see my earlier post, Cruel to be Kind.
  5. Something involving secret agents/localised power failures…

Thus I powered up the laptop with next-to-no expectations (wevs) to find a message beginning ‘Sorry, been home, out of internet range…’.  No. 3, I’m sorry I doubted you.  It transpires that there are pockets of rural England which the internet has not yet reached.  Like I said, the message was perfect.

 

With Wandering Hands maintaining radio silence, I am telling myself that Thursday Guy – with his lack of internet access – was an exceptional case.  W.H. texted on Sunday evening.  I replied a couple of hours later (the root rot was terminal).  It’s now Friday morning and I haven’t heard back.  Common sense tells me it’s a dead duck.  My promise to you is that if he hasn’t replied by midnight tonight, I will delete his number from my phone and its owner from my thoughts.

00:21  The number has gone.

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Cruel to be Kind

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CC Image courtesy of crosathorian on FlickrI thought Thursday Guy was just another crush, another notch on my emotional bedpost.  But then the insomnia started, accompanied by the sending of crazy emails to my best friend at 4am.  I had been so sure that there was something there that it was proving difficult to let go.

Wednesday evening, I rang my Mum.

‘No word from Thursday Guy.’

‘Oh?’

‘It’s been nearly three days and he hasn’t replied to my message.  Not a good sign, eh?’

‘Did you ask him a question?’

‘Yes, I asked if he’d had a nice weekend.  Shouldn’t have done that, should I?’

‘Hmmm probably not.’

‘I guess I just got the impression he liked me so I didn’t feel the need to play games… maybe, cos it’s lovely weather, he’s not at his computer much…’

‘Hmmm.’

Two lessons that can be learnt from the above:

  1. If you are using the weather to explain a man’s silence, it is time to move on.
  2. If you want someone to lie to you and say what you want to hear but know to be untrue, call a friend, not your mother.

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Aged to Perfection?

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OK so I’m jumping the gun a bit on this one in a ‘we’re yet to go on a date but I’m already contemplating the viability of a relationship with an older guy’ kind of way.  But I ask you, how many women have a handle on their imaginations when it comes to romantic entanglements?

We met at a ball last summer.  The other people in our party were mid to late twenties so I assumed he was too. I thought him charming and witty, as I presume did his then girlfriend.  In the course of the next few months our paths crossed occasionally.  Pleasantries were exchanged, dances were shared: life went on.

Thursday was different.  He came alone.  We chatted and flirted the whole way down the dance.  For the first time, I didn’t ask after the girlfriend.

In romance, as in every other sphere of life, things do not happen purely by chance; you have to help them along, however subtly.  Had I not hastened my departure from the venue, he might not have seen me leaving, turned back, asked if I was going to the pub, and, when I said that I was not, offered to drive me home.  At my door we said an affectionate goodnight, he insisted I email him the following day with information about an upcoming ball, and I went in to bed.

That’s clearly a lie.  I went in and looked him up on Facebook, and then looked up the girlfriend.  All evidence, once prolific, of their involvement had vanished.

I was about to jump for joy when his graduation date caught my eye.  I did a double take.  Maybe it was an error, or perhaps it referred to matriculation?  No, because then his school-leaving date (also given) wouldn’t make sense. Time to face facts: my new crush is 38. To my 23. Uh oh.

A female in her early twenties has a wonderful capacity to rationalise away red flags.  Some might say that a 15-year age gap is more of a red sail.  My flatmate, who is 32 and would never go near a 23-year-old, certainly thinks so: ‘You’re in different places. He’ll probably be looking to get married.’  Oh my God, a guy who wants commitment!  Run for the hills!  I see his point of course.  By 38 you are probably over slumming it in the Australian outback, or wading through mud at a music festival.  Scrabble and a civilised supper constitute a happening Saturday night.  Let’s suppose then that the 23-year-old in question quite likes comfortable hotels and word games.  (Crazy, eh?)  Is it still a terrible idea to get involved?

Marriage and babies: that’s potentially a bigger stumbling block.  Let’s see if he calls first.

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