Put your bets on me to finish last
Or just scratch altogether.
Maybe this is just a bad case of Murphy’s Law.
Or maybe there IS a God, and she DOES NOT like me.
But for some reason, I fall flat on my face right out of the gate, every time.
With every man I’ve communicated with online, as soon as we’ve gotten to know each other well enough that we’ve both agreed to meet, and I give them my phone number, they disappear off the face of the earth. Remember the Wild Canadian Boar? It happened with him. And the Deep Swimmer? Him too.
One thing you should know about me. If I hadn't gone into the line of work I did, I would've been a detective. Or perhaps a research scientist. I'm curious by nature. I want to know the answers. So I thought a little research project was in order. To see if this was indeed, an actual pattern, or just bizarre coincidence.
There was a guy from the next county over who'd been dogging me online for a few days. I'd blown him off, telling him that I was following another connection, and didn't want to entertain two possibilities at once. Which was true. Also true was the fact that I didn't really see any real similarities between us. I was skeptical that any kind of connection was possible. Shaved head. Big goateeish beard. A great big bear of a guy. Perfect. For my experiment, I mean. Definitely not the guy for me.
At this point, I just wanted to prove my hypothesis: That any man I gave my phone number to would ultimately flake out on me before even meeting.
So I emailed him. Told him that I'd changed my mind. And that I was free Friday for dinner.
The Experiment emailed me back. We were on. OK, so maybe my theory was wrong!
He called me 'Sweety' and wanted to know what restaurant I wanted to go to, and how to reach me.
I told him to meet me in front of a well known landmark in the middle of the city at 7pm, and that we could go to any one of a number of restaurants from there. But just in case we crossed signals, I gave him my cell phone number.
There ya go, I'd given him my cell phone number.
The last time I'd given my phone number to a man I had a date scheduled with, it took him approximately 18 hours from the moment he committed to the date to cancel the date and the communication altogether.
How long would it take this time?
Twelve hours later, there was an email in my box from The Experiment:
"Don't take this the wrong way. "
Where have I heard that before? Ah yes, the Homecoming King. I don't have to conduct research to know what follows the phrase 'Don't take this the wrong way.' Nothing good.
"I would very much love to meet you. I'm unable to at the present time. Due to a family emergency . I know you will understand. Thank you. I have you number and will contact you within a few days to reschedule our engagement."