Hanging on the telephonePosted: September 1, 2011
You should know that hell will freeze over before I call The Pirate again. Actual icicles on Old Nick’s knackers.
It doesn’t matter that we have the kind of plans that aren’t plans this weekend – a frustratingly characteristic Piratey trait – and I could really do with knowing whether they’re happening or not. And I don’t care that I haven’t spoken to him now for… ooh… 13 days. (All communications have been by email or text as I’ve been out of the country.) I am NOT calling him.
But I swear to God if he doesn’t call me tonight, I will never speak to him again. Yes, I do appreciate the utter ridiculousness of that last sentence. (Is it tautological, or am I just doing that annoying thing of using good words really badly?) And I also get that it is totally futile to set little tests for people without letting them know they are being tested. Pointless.
I don’t care. I called him last night, he didn’t answer and he didn’t call me back. The bastard!
OK. I am being unreasonable. And neurotic. Bordering on mental, in fact. There could be a million reasons why he didn’t call back. But obviously I’ve swinging between the following:
- He was in bed with another woman
- He was on the online dating site I met him on, looking for a thinner, prettier, funnier woman who doesn’t wear glasses, to be in bed with
- He hates me
Yes. They are the only logical conclusions. He sent me a text this morning apologising for missing my call. He was in bed. Early night recovering from a drinking session the night before. Ha! Excuses, cover ups and lies…
I’m not very good at this, am I? I wonder if men do this? I wonder if he’s sat at home, staring at *his* phone, willing it to ring? I wonder if he fills the gaps between *our* conversations with paranoid delusional nonsense?
You know what? I’m thinking probably not.
OK. So he just called me. Phew. You got away with it this time, pirate boy…