Just Be A Man About It...

I walked home from the light rail, listening to Toni Braxton's R&B treatise, "Just Be a Man About It," thinking that some things never change. I came to the conclusion earlier today that it really behooves a girl to have about five men on retainer. You need one waiting in the wings, ready to go at a moment's notice. You need someone who will be there to entertain you/distract you from the fall out of ensuing ridiculousness with one of the others.

Case in point. A guy--a friend--that I've been wondering if/when I'd ever hear from again writes me today. All breezy. All "What's up?!" Of course he writes because--and I am convinced of this--I have been lately wondering when I will hear from another man... and so had been giving precious little thought to him.

So I think, okay, this is good. I hear from this person. We'll likely hang out soon (and I had zero thought of that happening again). And who do I run into on the corner of Charles & Preston? Well, no one other than the man I've been waiting to call me for a couple of days now.

And in true fateful fashion. I saw him as I was thinking to myself 'ah, well. Maybe he'll never call. Maybe I'm okay with that.'

I was a little awkward, I think. I mean, I think I punched him in the shoulder as a jovial parting gesture or something. We did establish that he intends to call. I told him. "I hope you do. I'm a pretty hot commodity." So maybe it wasn't a total flop.

He was himself--very good natured. I just felt all nervous, so it made me distant and formal. We saw each other from across the street and I couldn't wait to get to him. And then I got over there...and flaked out or something. There was a conversation, of sorts, in which I admitted that I felt nervous. Anyway. I keep seeing this man just when I'm ready to write him off.

I guess I should get the message already.