Seems like a long title, but that was the theme of my night...
So you may remember, that way back in March, I met a boy at a wine-and-opera evening who seemed very cute and very into me. He didn't call after that evening, but I don't have time for boys who don't call, so I just forgot about him. I then ran into him again on a second occasion, where he enthusiastically greeted me, made up a huge story about why he hadn't called, and asked if he could still call me. To my amazement, after all of that, he still didn't call, but whatever.
You can imagine my surprise at this point, when last Wednesday I got a message from said boy on Facebook, saying he'd tracked me down at last, and could we still do drinks. We met in March! It's now September! But when he suggested that we could meet at the Younger Member's drinks that were happening tonight, who was I to say no? After all, they're open to everyone, and being that I could use some excitement in my life, I was happy enough to see a guy who at least found me attractive.
So I got myself to the club by 6:45 PM, where I joined the Wild Welshman for drinks. Funny, how at one point I would have been thrilled for it to be just the two of us, but now it felt just like seeing any other old friend. So he told me to grab myself a drink, and then we ended up just sitting and chatting for a while, waiting for the others to join. He bought me another drink at one point, and I thought we would end up doing one of our usual back-and-forth exchanges of round for round, but when his flatmate Nick arrived later, they got drinks together, and I just had boys buy me drinks for the rest of the evening. I love it when that happens, where I just have boys taking care of me, even if I do feel a tad bit guilty about boys who buy me drinks and I don't buy them any back.
In all it was a quiet night, as we had about eight people come along, but absolutely no sign of the boy who said he'd see me there. It wasn't really that much of a loss, because at least I wasn't properly stood up, I had plenty of other good company for the evening. Still, as you might imagine, I was annoyed, particularly after having made an effort to look nice.
So at around 10:30 PM, we all decided to call it quits, and I headed home. The Young Dutchman had been going out to some event for London Fashion Week, and so I expected I would see him when I got home. I was annoyed then, to arrive back at the flat to find the dishes not done (he'd been swearing for days that he was going to do them after I asked) and no sign of the Young Dutchman, even though it was nearly midnight. I then got a text saying he was out at some nightclub, and would be home late. That just about drove me batty, as the Young Dutchman hasn't been the best houseguest (breaking lamps, not cooking, failing to do the dishes), and now he was going to wake me up in the middle of the night when he got home? I dead-bolted the door (I knew I would get totally freaked out by a shadowy figure sneaking into my place in the middle of the night, it would be better if he had to wake me up), but of course, not knowing when he would come to wake me up made it hard to fall asleep. (Probably the half-dead can of Diet Coke that I drank because it was there and I was thirsty didn't help either. Nice to know caffeine has such an effect on me, but not the best all the time). And of course, I was still a bit annoyed about the boy who hadn't shown up too, and probably misdirecting my anger a bit...
By the time the Young Dutchman got home at 4:30 AM, I was pretty annoyed. But we'd actually been YouTube videos together of this comedienne, Whitney Cummings, who talked about how men are always shocked when arguments with women escalate quickly, because we've already been having the argument with them in our imaginations. By the time they actually show up for the argument, we're already halfway in and they're just joining mid-stream. So, keeping that in mind, when he showed up, I told him flat-out, "I'm annoyed. I've been kept up until 4:30 AM and the dishes still aren't done." No tricks, no mind-games, just letting him know that he'd been inconsiderate. At which point he apologized profusely, promised to never do it again, and do the dishes first thing in the morning. Honestly? What more could I ask? So assured that he was feeling horribly guilty and was heading off to sleep in a corner like a bad dog, I let him know he was forgiven, and indeed I woke up in the morning to the sound of the sink running as he scrubbed dishes. Good boy.
(Only later did I discover that he'd washed only the exact pile of dishes that I'd stacked up next to the sink, and none of the dirty pots or his own dishes that he'd left out on the table. {Sigh!} But I suppose that's training for another time. Some girl will eventually have to house-break him, but it's not my job!)
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