Hangin’ on the telephone
Or rather.. sitting staring at it.
Even with the advent of email, texting, IM, Skype, discussion boards and – *gasp* face to face contact, the majority of those who date, will at some point find themselves checking their phone to see if a) its overheated and turned itself off, b) has reception or c) a sneaky message/ text has made its way into the screen without the usual ‘ping’. Yes, its 2013 and we’re still sitting around waiting for a dude to call us.
The phone has the ability to turn a self possessed, busy, independent woman with a packed schedule into her 13 yr old self, mooning around thinking ‘why hasn’t he called?’ and mentally replaying the date to dig for signs of verbal deficiency (mine) or torpor (his).
Yes, I’m waiting for a post-first date call back. I think they should introduce it at Gitmo.
And while its not unusual (I’m 41 for gods sake, this started at 16).. this time it is different because while I acknowledge that I’m frustrated, I’m also furious.
Not angry at the guy(s) – dudes are so oblivious to the machinations of women’s dating inner life that its astonishing that we ever get around to mating-, no I’m angry at myself.
Because I’ve been back in the dating pool for exactly two weeks, during which time I’ve gone from someone who had complete certainty in herself (though I was questioning my boss’s sanity), who was confident in her ability to appeal to members of the opposite sex (and some of the same sex on a good day), and who frankly, didn’t really care about what one guy or another guy thought of her. To someone who checks her phone with OCD-like fervor. Something I swore I’d never do after the last time.
This is what dating does to you. It fries your commitment faster than a dieter at Burger King.
I’m now questioning whether I’m too old, too muscular, too mouthy, too opinionated, too ballsy, too frank, too casual or too blond to get a second date with someone I actually find attractive. I’m wondering if all of his ‘hi fives’ actually meant that he was having a ‘buddy date’, and whether in actually being myself, I, once again, stumbled into the friend zone. Whether his drinking so much as a sign of ‘oh lord, make it go away’ rather than ‘I’m having fun’ and whether making out like schoolkids at the end of the date was really just a version of ‘beer googles’ gone awry.
You see, I’m turned a fun first date into a 6 week analysis requiring databases, extensive configuration and a lot of PowerPoint charts.
And I am better than this.
So, today I decided to break with tradition and back away in writing. I can’t sit and be the American dater and wait for the phone to ring, interpret those text messages or call in the friend reserves to theorize on what may or may not be going through his head.
I mean, I have shit to do.
And yes I might have the passport and the nice letter from Mr Obama, but I remain British at heart. We say what we think and we don’t like being passive and retiring. We’re a blunt and dogged nation and we don’t shy from reality. We’re more Churchillian than that.
‘We shall go on to the end. We shall fight in France, we shall fight on the seas and oceans, we shall fight with growing confidence and growing strength in the air, we shall defend our island, whatever the cost may be. We shall fight on the beaches, we shall fight on the landing grounds, we shall fight in the fields and in the streets, we shall fight in the hills; we shall never surrender..’
And, (I’m sure he would have said), we will not sit around waiting for the bloody phone to ring.