I arrive to find my neighbor the Leo Belle having a drunk yet earnest conversation with her door knob as she'd lost her key and after installing her on my couch to pass out, I take it as a sign that tonight was not the night to Get Serbed. I text him back that I'm safe and he replies sweetly.
Over the course of the week, I begin to look forward to being Magically Plumbed. Except. After asking me out, he "forgets" to text me about our next date on the following Saturday and sends a hasty apology at half past midnight on a Friday saying he has to work but would call as soon as he finished by mid-afternoon. It finally comes round and Serbia remains silent. I finally tell him I'm on my way out and he asks to see me again the next day by 6pm. And yet again, no plans by the evening.
It doesn’t help that while trying to suss out precisely HOW anyone could "forget" to text back after almost burning the car down with body heat, I do what any self-respecting woman of today does. I trawl the internet for insight. I run into an Advice from a Guy blog, which purports that yes, indeed, forgetting is a known malaise amongst men, perhaps he was distracted, perhaps he "Just Wasn't Into You" but whatever the reason, whatever you do, DON'T confront/accuse/blame/act indignant as you will only come off as being Needy, says the Wise One in the pants. This enrages me to the point of incandescence.
Yet suddenly in the realm of the Personal, it is NEEDY?
Maybe it’s my Virgo Rising, or maybe it’s the fact that he’s a plumber and they are famous for being inexcusably late, but surely in this day and age of Outlook calendars, mobile synching and technology, the likelihood of that ought to be less? The Golden Venus asks if I think he will be back. I write her back with my quite cynical yet realistic mantra for this specific situation, “If he wants to hit it, he will come.”
Which on the flip side inescapably makes you reckon with the fact that for one reason or another - he does not. I am atypically angry at this entire experience and almost puncture my keyboard with impact as I type, “Good Riddance! He can ethnic-cleanse his own a**!” Very UN-politically correct I know.
The Golden Venus replies, “So..you really attracted to him then?" as she rightly weighs the ratio of bile I'm spewing to how disappointed I am at the halting of Serb-ice. I am seconds away from globalizing the incident into a Philosophy on How It Is Better to Be Heartless with Men when I take a step back and breathe. I suppose the more hip insight I should have is that this is all normal in the play of love, and that I ought to be down with it. Except I'm not, at least not in that way.
For one, the whole over-quoted He's Just Not That Into You thing has been, in my experience a convenient cop-out. Men are known to do absurdly strange things even while undeniably in love with you. Some go to Venezuela, some ignore you while next door, and some, even go as far as to marry someone else entirely. That declaration of apparent disinterest has delivered us to one thing, the relief of a conclusion. Alas, even sometimes a false one.
In short, there is age, timing, economics, geography, emotional availability, even yes, a sane state of mind amongst a number of other factors to make or break the dill. So how does anyone NOT get their hearts dashed upon the rocks over and over again when something of promise blooms but dies ever so quickly on the vine?
Well, you don't. If your interest was at all real, it deserves a little heart break, a little sadness. But being in touch with that makes it easier to accept how another person's reality affects us and not take it so personally, even if it feels that way. I've begun to think of the never-beens I get such as this one as opportunities that could only fully flower and produce its intended gifts if both souls involved are in some state of readiness. Whatever that is, I can't practically describe.
Except on this occasion, it likely has something to do with a Green Card.