The 40-Year-Old Fadeaway

I just realized turning down a second date (Elbows Guy asked) is completely outside my skill set. Apparently even with someone I don’t think likes me very much, what with my hideous dry elbow skin and my terrible grammar and my relationship projection issues. Wait, why DOES he want a second date? I must be an amazing kisser. [/ego trip]

Have I REALLY never done this before? If I have, it’s been about 13 years. And why do I care about being polite?

I’m trying not to be a big, fat coward who does The Fadeaway, but it’s hard to argue its lifelong proven efficacy. And I don’t want to bitch out and say I met someone else. Even if it would make it easier, it’s not true.

“I’m going to pass on a second outing. I had a nice time until I realized I don’t like you. And you don’t like ME apart from my shortness, the fondling, and your superiority. I don’t want to waste our time or my makeup, and I certainly don’t want to get your douche all over me, you Summer Rain motherfucker…”

Double fadeaway, denied.

Talking to friends yesterday: “I think I may have successfully ended a ‘friends with benefits’ thing with simple avoidance. I haven’t heard from him in 3 weeks. So…Yay, cowardice?”

Two hours later I get a text: “Hey stranger how goes things?”

Ahhh, shit.

Fine, I’ll be an adult. (I know, I know — I’m an asshole and I hate myself and I wouldn’t want to be treated that way and BLAH. Trust me, self-loathing already covered it. But I really did think it was a double fadeaway.)

In praise of mutual cowardice

Hm. Maybe I don’t even need to take the coward’s way out of this “breakup.” I haven’t heard from him since Christmas Day, and that includes an uncharacteristically booty-call-free weekend — I think the first since I’ve known him. This is good, because I was frankly too goddamn tired to shave anything all weekend, let alone deal with the performance of sex. (Yep, “performance.” Go big or go home, people.)

Hurrah, avoidance! Hurrah, not shaving!