Its 2:00 in the afternoon on one of those rare days where I’m not gearing up to teach my evening classes. I’m bored and even though I know I should wait for one of my Men-in-Waiting to text me about getting together tonight, my hand keeps inching towards my cell phone. I don’t think I’ll be hearing from PSM#1 again (it’s been a week since we went ice skating and aside from his rather lackluster text concerning our ill-fated New Years Day plans, I haven’t heard from him. Evidently my skating was worse than I’d realized).
As for PSM#2, common sense tells me that it’s his turn to get in touch. Unfortunately, I’m rather skilled at ignoring common sense. I even have a perfectly logical excuse this time: I have to be the one to initiate communication because I said some not very nice things about him on my blog earlier this week. He may think that I’m no longer interested, or he may be sitting at his desk this very minute, cell phone in hand, agonizing over whether or not to call me “darling” again.
It wouldn’t be such a big deal if not for the fact that I’m going away over the weekend (to a retreat for young adult Quakers in an attempt to expand my non-dating social circle) and am thereby depriving myself of not one but two possible date nights. Nor would it be so bad if I my weeknights were generally free but because I teach dance, they’re not.
Thursday nights, therefore, comprise prime real estate and because of my weekend plans, tonight is particularly valuable.
Too valuable to be spent sitting at my computer.
Especially because I’m wearing a funky new pair of tights.
So I head over to the coffee shop to consider my options. I could text PSM#2 and attempt to subtly convey my availability and desire to go out this evening, but I don’t do subtle very well.
I could reply to Date #7’s most recent text and spend the evening engaged in transcontinental communiqués with my would-be soul mate from Match.com. (In truth, these would not be transcontinental communiqués—he only lives on the other side of state!—but Pennsylvania is a rather large state so he may as well be across the country for all my new tights are concerned.)
Thanks to eHarmony’s slower-than-molasses approach to online dating, I know there’s no chance of me finding someone else at this short notice but I request another set of matches just in case.
(A brief confession: eHarmony sends you 7 new matches every single day. That’s seven profiles to read, seven sets of photographs to scroll through, seven potentially creepy trolls to avoid and seven chances to stumble across someone who’s going to throw you completely off balance and leave you fantasizing about wedding cakes for the better part of the afternoon— every single day. Unless you tell it to stop. Which I did, about two weeks ago.)
Clearly it’s time for me to get back on the horse—again— and although I sent PSM#3 a message yesterday asking if he was returned from his tropical holiday vacation (and therefore available to meet) I’ve not heard back from him.
I’m just about to send PSM#2 a not-so-subtle hint that I’m free tonight, thereby ignoring the very same advice that I’ve been dishing out all week, when a new email pops up in my inbox.
It’s from eHarmony.
Congratulations! So-and-so from Philadelphia, United State has requested communication.
Here we go again.
(In all honestly however, I’m still mightily tempted to text PSM#2. Please comment below and tell me to stop being such a pushover.)