Within the past 48 hours, I’ve had three friends come to me for relationship advice. “I’m not exactly batting a thousand over here,” I keep telling them. I’m hoping to meet with up PSM#3 sooner or later (now that he’s back from vacationing in the Bahamas) and both Date #1 and Date #7 keep popping back into my life but I’ve gone out with twenty different men since August! The way I see it, I’m either sub-consciously sabotaging my new would-be relationships (which, to be honest, wouldn’t surprise me) or I am truly the world’s worst dater.
(Or, quite possibly, Fate plays a greater role in all of this than I’d like to acknowledge. Perhaps I haven’t found “The One” [or realized that I’ve found “The One”] because I’m not meant to find “The One” just yet.)
Either way, I’m no closer to securing myself a reliable Plus One than I was when I first started serial dating six months ago. But this hasn’t stopped my friends from coming to me for advice.
Oddly enough, I find myself saying the same thing over and over: Whatever you do, do NOT call him.
I find it rather depressing that the culmination of my hard-earned dating wisdom comes down to playing hard to get. We’re all adults now; shouldn’t we be beyond playing games? Can’t we just admit that we happen to enjoy someone’s company and go about arranging for a second date with the same efficiency we manage to employ for business meetings or job interviews? Evidently not. And so I find myself giving the same advice that women throughout the ages have given their girlfriends (even if they themselves can’t follow their own words of wisdom).
Do not call him.
Even if you had a great time.
Even if you suspect he had a great time.
Even if he said he had a great time— do NOT call him.
I used to think that all of those hunter/gatherer analogies were complete bullshit as far as dating was concerned but there’s a reason why virtually every relationship advice article boils down to the same thing: do not call him. For in calling him, you deny his natural predilection for hunting, and in denying his natural predilection for hunting, you deny yourself the pleasure of his company.
It’s all very simple even though it makes the feminist in me want to scream Can’t I take charge of my own destiny? Do I really have to sit around waiting for him to call?
“It sucks,” I found myself commiserating with one of my college roommates on New Year’s Eve. “But if he said he’ll give you a call after the holidays, you really need to wait for him to give you a call after the holidays.”
Of course, you can Facebook stalk him all you want, and wonder how it is that he’s had the time to fly to Vegas/post Christmas photos/comment on his friends’ recent engagement and yet not call you… but it’s not going to make any difference.
(Actually, that’s not true. It will make a difference. To you. It will drive you insane. But it won’t make any difference to him.)
Lo and behold, exactly 48 hours into the New Year, I received a message from my old roommate. “You were right!” she wrote. “He called!”
I couldn’t help but smile—I do love being right, especially when my being right would suggest that A) I am indeed getting better at dating and B) I’m using my newfound knowledge for the betterment of single girls everywhere, society-in-general, and quite possibly the world-at-large. (I fully expect to be awarded the Nobel Peace Prize someday.)
Now, if only I could follow my own advice.