He Wasn’t …

Imagine you’ve spent the afternoon getting your eyebrows threaded (although it renders the best results you always fear wetting yourself as the sensation is rather painful), hair done and nails manicured.  Then you run like a mad woman to the dry cleaners to collect your favourite black wrap-around dress.  You know the one:  three quarter length sleeves; wraps around perfectly; shows the exact right amount of cleavage and we can’t forget it makes your pa-pow-pow look even better than usual. It IS the perfect LBD (little black dress)!

Once home, you get yourself showered, dressed and spritz on your Chanel Allure Sensuelle perfume (your signature scent) and you’re almost ready to go. By the time you leave your home to meet your date you’ve invested not only a lot of time, but money too.

Why isn’t he picking you up at your front door after all your efforts? Well, you don’t really know him do you?  So, you don’t want him showing up at your front door under any circumstance until you’ve had a chance to get to know him.  And with that thought in mind, you get in your car then drive off to the restaurant where you are to meet.

You arrive at 8:00pm.  This is the agreed upon time.  He is not there at 8:00pm.  In fact, he is not there at five minutes past, ten past or quarter past.  By twenty minutes past you start doing high level mathematics in your head calculating the time, money, perfume, makeup and gas you’ve invested in this meeting.  These calculations are essential to determine how much longer you’ll wait.  You also try to factor in the possibility that perhaps your date has encountered some difficulty that caused his delay.

It takes only sixty-two seconds to do your calculations and determine you will only give him another three minutes and fifty-eight seconds before you will call it an evening.

Time is up!  No date, no phone call, no nothing.  You get back into your car and drive home. You try to be a big girl about it and not cry or curse. You succeed. Okay, I’m lying.  You don’t cry, but you do let out a string of expletives that will be difficult to justify when you reach the gates to Heaven.  

After you get home you shower, change and hang-up your LBD then open that nice bottle of white wine sitting in the bottom of your fridge.  You call your friend to moan about the date-that-never-was and together you conclude that there wasn’t a damn thing wrong with you, but just another bout of bad luck.  When you hang up, you think to yourself, “How much bad luck can one woman have?”

 

A few days later your phone rings.  It is HIM.  He has phoned to find out what happened to you the other night.   Being a civilized and mature person you explain that you arrived at the agreed upon meeting place at the agreed time.   Then things get interesting.

Him: “Oh, but you said you were driving.”

Her: “Yes.  And I did.”

Him: “But, I was waiting for you to call to say when you’d be picking me up.”

Her: “Picking you up?”

Him: “Yes.”

Her: “Pardon? You asked me out right?”

Him: “Yeah.”

Her: “You suggested the restaurant too…”

Him: “Yeah.”

Her: “We both agreed to meet there at 8:00pm, yes?”

Him: “Yeah!”

Her: “And you took this to mean I would collect you from your house?”

Him: “Yeah! How else did you think I was going to get there?”

Click. She ended the call deciding he wasn’t going to waste anymore of her time.

 

He Was…

Imagine that you’ve decided to end your dating sabbatical.  You have had too many bad experiences with men, are past hurt feelings and feel good about life in the solo lane.  You also knowjoining a convent isn’t an option.  It is your understanding that they no longer allow women to join simply because they can’t find a  suitable man.  Apparently they become much strictrer with their membership criteria after the sixties.   Still, you do wonder if perhaps they’ll reconsider those rules given that fewer women are joining the Order these days …

So, what can you do but get out there and try dating again.

You go on a few coffee dates.  On some of them, the coffee is great, the date not so good.  On a few other occasions, both date and coffee are terrible.  Through these experiences you notice you are becoming quite the coffee connoisseur.  Although this wasn’t the result you’d hoped for, at least you’re getting some benefit from these meetings.

One day you go for coffee with a man who shows more promise than the coffee.  In fact you decide to go for a few more coffee dates then eventually agree to dinner.

During this ‘getting-to-know-you’ phase you gently ask probing questions.  How else are you supposed to get to know someone?  On the fourth date you ask the key question which no matter how you phrase sounds exactly as you intend for it to sound to both your ears: “Are you married and/or does someone consider themselves married to you?”

This may sound like an oddly phrased question, however, it isn’t really.  What you’re really asking is (a) are you married (whether legally or common-law doesn’t matter), and (b) if you answer ‘no’ to part ‘a’ because you don’t feel married, does someone else believe and/or feel themselves to be married to you?   As you both understand the question, you await his reply.  He answers ‘no’ to both questions.  Inside you think, “Thank-you Lawd!”

Armed with the right answer you let your guard down and think how happy you are you’re no longer on sabbatical.  If you were, you might have missed out on a good opportunity.

Two months later, feeling a bit more comfortable you allow him to pick you up at your house when you go out on dates. A few weeks later you offer to pick him up, but he hesitates and puts you off.  You aren’t too fussed as you don’t exactly live that close to each other.  Besides, gas prices are rising.

Then one day he calls and says, “Ummm, my wife is coming home this weekend so I have to cancel our plans.”

In Tasha Mack speak (if you don’t know who Tasha Mack is, then please don’t read any further until you’ve watched a few episodes of the television show ‘The Game’), you respond with a loud and rapid fire, “Whatsaywhatnow?!”

Safely on the other end of the telephone line he offers as explanation that he and THE WIFE are having troubles, so he wasn’t feeling married when you and he met. Then he goes on to explain his wife is away at law school as it was always her dream and she’ll be home on break.  Blah, blah, blah.

You could curse him out, but can’t be bothered.  It wasn’t serious.   At the end of the day (a) he IS married and (b) you’re now over coffee, preferring skinny vanilla lattes instead.  So, you hang up the phone and wonder if maybe you can find a convent that might make an exception and take you in.

 

He Won’t Ever Be

Your sixth sense alerted you to the fact someone was staring at you. When you turned around you noticed it was him standing about ten feet away.  Quickly you size him up (you never know when the right opportunity might knock so you have to look carefully) and dismiss him as not the sort of opportunity you want or need.

You are confident in your dismissal because as quickly as you spot him you notice that woman standing beside him has also noticed his wandering eye.  Together they look like a normal attractive couple.  You’ve seen both of them before: sometimes together, other times separately.  Clearly they’re married or at the very least a couple.   But, how happily you’re not too sure especially with the very different sort of look each is now giving you, then give each other when you walk past.  But, you don’t break a stride to analyze the situation. You have work to do in your office and these people aren’t your problem.

A few hours later the receptionist tells you your next appointment is on the way up.  Not recognizing the name she has announced, you assume it’s a new client.  When you walk towards to the reception area you realize that HE is your new client.  He is there alone.  Being the professional you are,  you ask him to come into your office.

Quickly he gets to the point: he is there to ask you out.  You politely decline the invitation.  Earlier observations aside, accepting the offer would also be unprofessional.   Speaking of professional, you then ask if there is anything professional that you can help him with.  He says ‘no and continues.

Him: “I don’t understand why you won’t let me take you for dinner?”

Her: “Mr. X., thank-you again for your invitation but I must decline.”

Him: “Well, I want a reason!”

Her: “Again, Mr. X, thank-you, but…”

Him: “Give me a good reason…”

You know that the time you’re wasting with this idiot could be better spent on the pile of work patiently waiting on the file cabinet behind you.  You also know that you have no intention of getting involved in whatever mess he and his woman obviously have going on.   So, you do what you have to do: “Mr. X does Mrs. X  know about the monthly fund transfers you’ve been making to Miss Y’s bank account?”    From his reaction you know he knows you’re aware he is trouble.   And with that, you both know he won’t ever be your problem.

 

Now you know what comes next …

Laters & G’Night,

Mantha

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