Seriously, dating and I do not get along.
Tonight’s latest misadventure: going on a dinner date and getting stood up. I waited 35 minutes, then, as I was leaving, ran into my date getting drinks with other people. I left before I could say or do anything I’d regret later.
It’s been four solid years of romantic mishaps, enough to perhaps script out a season’s worth of a male Sex And The City. My ex-wife serving me with divorce papers as I was getting chemotherapy. Getting dumped on my birthday-twice. Getting dumped on Valentine’s Day-twice. The woman who sat, mutely texting/emailing/doing whatever on her BlackBerry, never once engaging in conversation.
You get the visual-at this point, I’m dating less to find someone and more to find out what bizarrely magnificent way the other person will find to kick me to the side of the road.
There’s got to be a better way, but damn if I know how.