Real stories about dating and relationships in New York City. Truth is more interesting than fiction.

The Longer I Wait…

First, some housekeeping. Yes, it’s been a longass time. I make no claims about the near or distant future. I may get back into blogging. Or I may not. Either way, it would be wrong to say I’m turning over a new leaf or re-committing to this. One day at a time.

Oh, and I’m shutting down comments for this post. Maybe for all future posts? If you’re happy to see this new post, awesome.  There are lots of ways for you to get in touch, if you like. But I gotta be honest about the fact that I no longer pay attention to comments. It’s just too much. And part of leading a successful life, it seems to me, is figuring out what you can live without.

Now that that’s taken care of…I’ve had this story on my mind. Years ago, more than 20 years ago to be more specific, I had a guy in my life that I was quite fond of. And he was quite fond of me. It was cool and we were pretty happy.

He decided it would be a nice change if we got away for the weekend. Together. Kind of romantic. I thought it was a good idea and plans were made. We were going to leave Friday night, as soon as he got off work.

Now, I gotta stop here and remind you that I said this was over 20 years ago. For those of you who are too young to realize what that means, let me spell it out for you. No texts, no twitter, no Facebook. Very few people had email, and I wasn’t one of them. And neither of us had cell phones, they were wicked expensive back then.

So, when he didn’t show up at the expected time, there wasn’t much I could do to touch base or track him down. I tried calling his home and work. No answers.

I sat around my apartment and waited. And stewed. Hours passed. Hours. And then, about 4 or 5 hours later (I may be misremembering this, it was a long time ago) he showed up at my apartment. I figured he’d have a really good excuse. Something serious. Like a dead family member or a car accident.

But no. He had no excuse at all. The way he told it, he went out after work with some buddies, thinking it would be for one quick drink. He figured I wouldn’t mind if he were a little late, which was true. And then one drink turned to more. And they were having fun. At some point he realized that a couple of hours had passed and I would mind. Which sent him into some kind of shame and fear cycle (my words, not his, and maybe not even accurate). He knew he’d done wrong, knew I’d be pissed, and was afraid of the fight we might have. He didn’t want to deal. So instead of rushing over to my place to make things right, he decided to hang out a little longer. To avoid the consequences. Even if he knew, rationally, that he’d have to face me eventually.

And so more hours passed until finally he realized he had to make a choice. Face me and deal with whatever drama might follow, or not. And the not could mean the end of our relationship. Which he didn’t want.

So he showed up many hours late and tried to explain why. That he never meant to be more than 30 minutes late and he felt horrible about it. Blah blah blah.

I remember being relieved. It wasn’t anything serious and he clearly felt bad. So instead of drama we just took off, together. For our weekend away.

I think of this story every time I do something similarly moronic. Like now. I haven’t blogged in months. I’ve thought about it often. Started a few posts. But I just didn’t want to deal. And the longer I waited, the harder it became. I didn’t want to face this. Face you.

Immature Business Woman

Well, here I am. Facing it.


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