I waited for a about a half hour, and then I sent a text. That’s when she realized she had got the day wrong. Not a problem, I said, it happens. I was on the chilly side of luke-warm on this one anyways. She was very apologetic, appropriately, and by the time she rang a little bit later, I had moved on to a show. I couldn’t, and didn’t really want to talk. I was a bit annoyed. It takes energy and effort to plan, arrive on time, and get your head into date mode. Bloody show up.
A few days later, she texted. Want to try again? Hmm, not really but sure. Nothing ventured. We arranged to meet. It was a week day happy hour, quite warm. She was pretty, really sweet, and really not much else. We had little in common beyond the small talk. She didn’t get out much, she professed. It showed, I thought.
This was one of two times that I made up a story to end a date. A friend was in town, it was her birthday, I need to go meet for dinner. I felt a little bad, as I got the impression that she had planned on a night out. But I was learning not to extend these dates beyond their time. It’s okay to say ‘no’ after saying ‘yes’. This was work, and not much fun. It would be better to call it. And so I did and away I went.