Ah, what a day Friday was. Exciting, because: weekend! Frustrating, because: unresponsive I-thought-I-had-plans-for-a-second-date-with Catch ghosted.
I thought I had plans. I mean, Catch did ask me out for date numero dos shortly after our first date, we settled on Friday. There was daily, albeit brief, conversation throughout the week. Nothing to me that would indicate the confusion that only an act of ghosting can bring come the week’s end.
Boy was I in for a treat. I texted Thursday evening to say ‘hi’, and hopefully lead to a conversation of locking down some sort of a plan for Friday. My last text to one of his was basically to say, “We still good for tomorrow?”
Annnnd, haven’t heard a peep since.
Beyond ghosting being confusing on the ghostee’s end, I wouldn’t have taken Catch for a ghoster. I like to think the people I dig are all kinds of integrous. But that’s the thing about humans. We’re full of surprises, and I think sometimes good people do not-so-nice things.
As the day wore on, I went from being confused, to super annoyed (how rude!) to slightly apathetic, to a point where I didn’t want to hear from him because I just wanted to go home and fly solo. But of course, that’s not what I really wanted, because when I eventually did get home, and I was out of the world’s sights, I was free to let the tears fall. Anger, frustration… a smidge of this is my life now, you better get used to it… go get yourself a cat or five.
I need to stress. It’s not the simple act of being ghosted on by a boy I met once that leads to tears (though after nine months of Tinder dating and two plus years of being mostly single it definitely contributes to a decent percent of them). It’s also the whole roller coaster of being single. Or maybe even more generally. Of being human.
When you think you connect with someone on a deeper level, after having put in your fair share of Tinder time, see potential, are actually excited about the prospect of a second date, it’s a slight burn that can be added to the pile of other let-downs.
And after having an intimate convo over my intimates with my waxologist** that fateful Friday, I decided to send one last text: a didn’t hear from you so I made alternate plans, have a good night, sort of text. Because no matter how annoyed I get, I always and maybe naively, hope for the best. Living a life giving the benefit of the doubt takes so much gremlin, inner mind dialogue drama out of the equation. I’m not in the business of feeling crazy. And also. Closure. So, after an especially harrowing waxing appointment, I booked it to see a movie (Edge of 17 by the way. Cute. But, maybe not the right choice for me at that point—17-year-old Nadine is only happy, or really gives the audience a beaming genuine smile when she ‘get’s the boy’).
The words couldn’t ring truer.
Fuck this shit. And so without hesitation, I deleted my Tinder account. Yes, it’s true. I need a break from the online dating scene.
And so, I went on my merry little way to chop my hair off and attend a very large office party with amazing people and super fun times dancing in my new super sparkly dress… to Flo Rida, Macy Kate, and his backup dancers. For serious. Our office had Flo Rida singing his 2000’s hits. Apple Bottom jeans, boots with the fur…
Merry (fucking) Christmas!***
Watch a video and feel all kinds of joy. Happy Thursday!
*A wise neighbour told me: It doesn’t mean a thing until you have a history. With that being said, kindly prove me wrong.
**In no way was this appointment related to a second date.
***Said with humour. I truly do love this time of year.