Maybe He's Just Not That Into Me

I remember when that awful book first came out.  My mother told my sisters and I that she was going to go out and buy a copy for each of us.


Thanks, Mom.

Recalling this moment is like cramming salt into an open wound.  In this case, it's an open wound that I've been pretending I haven't noticed for the past few days.

Like I said yesterday, I haven't been so great about actively seeking out a soul mate in this city, but that doesn't mean I haven't been having fun splashing in the kiddie pool with some of the rejects.  I've gotten (and given) a few numbers that were worth a few good dates, but there is one in particular that had a good enough opening scene to earn a few good months.

The full story of how it all began will have to wait until another post, because I'll spoil the sweetness with piss and vinegar if I include it in this one. 

Long story short, I'm mad.  I've effectively been dating someone for three months and within the last week, our communication has gone from plentiful and playful down to sparse and cordial, and down even further to non-existent.  It's certainly not for lack of my own attempts, (and no, I have not been clingy.)  He's had plenty of space, and time (over two days, now) to respond to my most recent text of "Hey, how's your day?"

I'm pretty sure I couldn't be any less threatening or overbearing if I tried (ok, yes, I am trying), so I don't know what's up.  Maybe I'm wrong.  Maybe I've scared him off being that girl that he just can't be bothered to keep around. 


Maybe my mother should have bought me that book once upon a time when it was released.  It would save me the embarrassment of having to purchase it now.  But maybe I should read the sequel, because maybe I'm just not that into him either.  

Maybe.