Two dates last week, or almost. Mr. Saturday Nighter canceled out two hours before we were supposed to meet. He said he wasn't feeling well and that he'd even missed a day of work.
Why he didn't call earlier to tell me he was sick, who knows. Nor did he apologize. But he did offer to make it up to me, twice.
Interesting. Someone I've never met, whom I've talked with on the phone maybe five minutes, is going to make it up to me? How, I'd like to know. Send flowers? Take me to a nicer place than we originally were planning to go, if and when, that is, we do indeed ever meet?
Nope. When he said, "I'll make it up to you," I think he must have been having a momentary blip and thought he was talking to his soon-to-be ex-wife.
I can just imagine the rest of their conversation. "Yes, I'd say I was 'fine,' even when I wasn't, but I'll make it up to you...Yes, I said, 'needing to talk about emotions is your problem,' but I'll make it up to you...Yes, I was sleeping around, but I'll make it up to you. Really, sweetie. Honest."
Promises, promises. Like clouds in the sky, how they drift by.
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