I purposely waited 24 hours to post to let the juices marinate. I was feelin' good. I sent the 10 pm requisite "I'm still alive and not floating in the East River" texts. My mom called at 11 pm last night to gossip about the date. I walked into the office this morning firmly in B+ territory. I'd even venture to say A- but didn't want to appear cocky.
Flashback. The date was good! He totally took charge, immediately offering to get me a beverage when I walked in, and had clearly been there for long enough to be early (since he was already almost a full-beer deep). Plus 1. He'd secured a table so we could sit and talk, rather than sit at the bar. Plus 2. We had easy, flowing conversation, both laughed often, and engaged in witty banter. Plus 3. We ended the evening with him hailing me a cab, kissing me (on the cheek! naughty, naughty) goodnight, and asking for my digit$ so he could call me sometime. Plus 4. Success huh?
Not so fast. The details started to emerge about my behavior on the date, and my success ball of yarn started to unravel. I talked too much. I was wayyy too enthusiastic about my job (but come on, everyone should use Dove soap). When asked about my unnaturally high amount of energy, I attributed it to mercury poisoning from all the sushi I eat. He and I bantered about murder jokes (there's an explanation, but seems irrelevant to this paragraph...). Minus 1. Minus 2. Minus 3. For me.
Enter happy hour tonight. A circle of mixed-gender captivated listeners (or perhaps, just captives...ask them?) evaluating my date. Apparently, somewhere between The Guy Code and He's Just Not That Into You, lawyerboy has until exactly noon tomorrow to throw a follow up text my way before it's officially not happening at all. Ouch, rules. Ouch.
Stay tuned. 13 hours and counting...
xo,
$L#1
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