second date jinx

It goes on.  Those two shards from ten days ago appear to have now fizzled, though it took a little longer than expected, and the one enjoyed a brief crackle of sorts.

However, the one higher in my affections and more subjected to careful hope qualified her brush off yesterday evening by text message.  Her indifference had grown obvious.  She initially gave hope and we loosely arranged a second meeting, then she cancelled – really busy, promising to get in touch the week after, then didn’t.

Part due to my own circumstance and lifestyle, but I have little respect for an excuse of ‘busyness.’  It’s tantamount to not being arsed.  Unless you’re a Prime Minister or a President, or James Corden, there clearly ARE enough hours in a day or week.

Added to this sketchiness and inability to fix a date was a frustrating email manner of one-liners, text messages no more developed, minimal words.  Yet within them: still responses and questions.  If complete indifference, why bother responding at all?

I kept it casual, never mentioning my probable and increasingly imminent departure from London.  Yet mindful of ever dwindling time I decided to push the issue, and wondered by text if it was worth my while attempting to ‘challenge her indifference.’

‘Challenge my indifference?’ the three words were returned several hours later.

Perhaps I should have just called her.  Verbal conversations about such matters seem to be getting rarer, or maybe our generation is just bad at them, particularly at early stages like this.  Also.. well, I was in a cinema at the time and the film was really good.

I explained that I didn’t know if she was that bothered; she apologised for being flaky but was very busy at the moment so it was probably better if we just left it, sorry.

No reply rushed to my fingertips.  That was that then.

Perhaps on that evening, when there was that small frisson: if I’d been more direct, more of a slag – who knows if she was actually interested then, and then only..   But then came the discovery of the theft.

Everything was simpler with the brush off, but it raised the ugly narcissistic head of my relentless inability to secure second dates.

What the hell is wrong with you?  Ok, at times it’s your own doing and you don’t fancy them and there aren’t many who have moved you enough to try and persuade them they’re wrong (none in fact because you don’t Do persuasion).  But the brutal truth is that the ratio is around 50/50.  Do you scare them somehow?  Are you just not attractive enough?  Are you too needy?  (You tempered that one quite well last time too, you thought, extremely casual).  You wish you could conceal yourself slightly better, not say quite so much, lie about small things – although you’re essentially unashamed that you don’t and can’t.  Why should you apologise for yourself?  How much of your personal integrity is it necessary to compromise?  How much should you lie or fake or bluster?

But when it rolls on like this, the first dates which are only ever first dates, followed by more first dates and no second dates, you can’t help but reflect and look inward.  You can do presentable, fairly charming, moderately amusing, even upbeat at a push; you don’t swear, probe insensitively on delicate subjects, talk endlessly about work or football, burp or fart in their faces.

There are often small things I regret saying or not saying, and I know if I possessed more direction, greater ambition and knew how to confidently operate chopsticks, this would be beneficial.   On the whole though, I don’t walk away thinking I’ve given an unfair or disappointing representation.

I’m usually excellent at navelgazy self-criticism, but here all I see is fog and murk and confusion.  It concerns me.