On Tuesdays, the traffic in Philadelphia is as such that I can either leave an hour and half early for work (thus arriving with forty minutes to spare), or I can leave forty minutes before my classes start (which is what the commute should take, plus a ten minute buffer zone). Unfortunately, the latter option leaves me racing to the finish line week after week so I’ve been choosing the former lately, which is how I came to find myself with forty minutes in the parking lot yesterday.
I used this time as any serial dating anthropologist would: to check in with my “informants.”
The difficult part of keeping up with multiple men at once is not the emotional stress. Oh no. It’s the logistics (although don’t get me wrong: the emotional stress is pretty bad too).
I’m going out with Date #6 tomorrow night, Date #7 is coming to visit the weekend after next and the Wedding Date and I are still trying to coordinate our schedules for a second night out.
Do you have any idea how many text messages its take to maintain this sort of lifestyle? All I’ve got to say is thank GOD my plan is unlimited.
Anyway, getting back to this past weekend’s wedding, I neglected to mention that the bride, the maid of honor, the mother of the bride and even the father of the bride are all avid readers of my blog. (See yesterday’s comments.) By the time the reception started, they all wanted to know one thing: who’s the front runner?
Who is the front runner?
As I explained to the bride between belting out the lyrics to Love Shack and helping myself to my brother’s uneaten chocolate covered strawberry, Date #6 is out of the running, but the Wedding Date and Date #7 are still going strong. Of course, seeing as I’ve only seen each of them twice, it’s hard to say.
Plus it’s not in my best interest to say.
I put enough of my life on the internet. The minute I confess to preferring one man to the other, it’s going to be all jealousy and inflated egos and who wants to deal with that? Not me.
Needless to say, the bride’s mother was adamant: I deserve better than a man who would serve me hot pockets for dinner during my first visit. She’s prefers the wedding date by default (and judging by the “discreet” behind-my-back hand signaling that accompanied this conversation, so does my mother).
- My Deepest Date to Date (katrichterwrites.wordpress.com)
- The Wedding Date That Wasn’t Mine (katrichterwrites.wordpress.com)
- Lady’s Choice: The Truth, the Whole Truth and Nothing But the Truth (katrichterwrites.wordpress.com)
- Getting Back to Date #6… (katrichterwrites.wordpress.com)