This post is going to be practically live-blogging magic right here. Partially because a post idea just popped into my mildly attractive little head and partially because I need to vent. Here’s the scoop, I had a date set for approximately four this evening with a young gent I met a couple weeks ago. He’s cute and seemingly sweet…BUT he postponed the first date for what was, at first, an indefinite amount of time. Then it turned into two hours. By this point I’m a little bit seething at myself for agreeing to wait like a pathetic little fool and a little bit ready to stick my carefully selected stiletto boot heel into his eye.
Then I breathe. Fine. I get it. People work. I had to postpone about a half hour because of work. But it was a half hour not one to twenty-four. Who does this guy think he is? Why is his time so much more important than mine? It’s bad enough I accepted a date made via text, but now he eschews every level of dating etiquette and any semblance of a good first impression with this? Bold move, little camper, bold move. I have options man, I don’t need this!
Anndd then I come back down after deciding to kill some time at my cliché coffee joint of choice. It’s been awhile since I’ve been here and the too-deep Victorian armchairs, handsome fireplace and rich velvet curtains really have a way of sedating me. Cue some sage advice from big-sister Robin and I’ve come up with a solid plan that allows me to save some face and resist the urge to throw baby kittens into the Mississippi. (I would never do that, that’s terrible, I love kittens.) The course of action involves a caloric coffee drink, oversized Special K bar (I’ll show him, I’ll get fat before he gets here) and a set deadline so I can move on with my life. She suggested an hour, I gave him an hour and a half because I’ve already given up this much time of my life and I’m going to be here for two hours anyway. So whatever, I’ll deal.
The upside for me is any trace of nervousness I had about this endeavor has now been replaced with mild irritation so I could really give a crap what Jonny Come Lately thinks of me at this point. Unabashed honesty and unprecedented levels of being one’s self on a first date? Yes please! Unfortunately for him, this waiting gives me ample time to analyze the situation and assess the faults one clearly must possess in order to be so inconsiderate during the one period of time one’s sole focus should be on impressing the object of one’s affection. It’s only a few months before sweat pants, pork rind crumbs and skipping important dates to watch the game become the norm so you damn well better make them count.
So what are your thoughts on the matter? What is an acceptable amount of time to make someone wait? What is or isn’t a valid excuse? At what point can I flip the bitch switch and give this guy what for? Or should I be a normal, understanding rational adult and give the poor bastard the benefit of the doubt?
UPDATE: The dude never showed at the drop dead time. An hour later he said he just got back from work, shot off a lame "sorry." I don't anticipate ever hearing from him again. Que sera, sera.