We talked for a few weeks and he seemed really cool and interesting. We set up a plan to meet for drinks in a Friday night at a cute French bistro. I would tell you more about him, but he clearly lacks a personality, so it doesn't matter.
First meetings, or dates, are a first impression, so if a "date" doesn't show and doesn't call, it's basically a diss. He got cold feet or whatever, and even if he's in the hospital with amnesia or a heart attack, he's no good to me anymore, anyways.
So how did I gracefully handle being stood up on a date, alone in a restaurant, being attended to by an empathetic server and busser who both asked repeatedly of I was ok or if I needed anything? Well, I thought about slinking out the door.
But then I thought about my pride. I thought about how hard it was to get back on the dating horse after my last relationship, and about how I thought for sure this guy was worth meeting. I thought about all of the sand I had sifted though online looking for gold nuggets, and how angry it made me to be wrong about him. Then I remembered that nothing in life is certain, and he probably saved me years of trouble. I gave him a 1/2 hour before I ordered a wheel of baked brie for myself to indulge upon and a second fancy cocktail. Eff that guy.
A server behind me cutting bread knew what was going on when she saw me order the second drink and the cheese she said, "don't ever talk to him again." Damn right, sister. I'm a classy bitch and I am NOT a cheap date. I drink fancy cocktails and wheels of cheese in quaint french bistros on Friday nights by myself because I CAN. I always pick up the check, and I have great manners. Hell yeah. I don't need that jerkface.
To hell with you, Mr. No Show. I'm awesome.
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