On getting over-excited and then not being called after all

We’ve had some silly stories and a bit of pop-psychology this week. All of it an attempt I guess to rationalise with wider sociological patterns the fact that Piano did not call me, or settle a time and place once he’d said he’d like to meet me for a drink.

According to Tuesday’s post, this is because he has the opportunity to meet lots of women who would be interested in him and are possibly more attractive than me – faced with such choice, he doesn’t have to call me.

According to Wednesday’s blog, this phenomena is common to the Western world, and is because I’m more educated than my male peers, or too picky – why should he call me?

According to Thursday’s post, I ought to count myself fortunate to have had even a brief encounter with an attractive man, and indeed with several interesting men, in pursuit of six dates in six months – I’m proud of who and what I am even if he doesn’t call me.

But today being Friday, I’ll be honest and say, no matter how much you rationalise it, it still sucks when you’re waiting for a bloke to contact you and he doesn’t.

 

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