So here’s the thing.
I met this guy on the fated dating website that we don’t mention. We messaged back and forth for a few weeks, and eventually swapped numbers with every intention of meeting up.
Texting ensued (nothing dirty – I know you were thinking it) and we began to try and figure a time when we might be able to actually cross paths in the real world. Unfortunately, at that time, I had a show opening and was working stupidly late every night, and whenever it looked like something might be able to work, something came up and it never quite happened.
Then, he disappeared home to America for a month. A month passed, and nothing, so I figured it had pretty much fizzled out.
Then, a few days ago, I got a text out of the blue saying he was back in town at last, and did I fancy getting together for that drink.
Heck, my social calendar is kicking my 50,000 words in a month attempt so bad at the moment, why not? So I suggested Friday.
Please note, I suggested this on Monday.
On Tuesday night, a slight friendship crisis emerged, and Blondie and I both unanimously decided to cancel our Friday plans. Ho’s over Bro’s and what not. So the next morning I texted, nice and early, saying I couldn’t do Friday after all and was Saturday okay.
Saturday was okay. So that was that.
Saturday arrives, and (about half an hour ago) I received the following message:
‘My dad wants to take me out to dinner in London this evening… I’ll be around tomorrow if you can somehow swing it hun x’
I’m sorry… what? How does dinner with your dad constitute cancelling a hot date? Especially a date that is due to take place between 3 and 7.30pm, due to Ritzi’s extremely busy schedule. And you may say (as some on twitter did) that perhaps he rarely sees his dad and maybe that makes it okay… but I have deduced that since returning to the UK he is staying with his parents, so not in any way unfamiliar with their faces.
Therefore, I have been stood up in favour of a MAN DATE with the guy’s father.
In what world can a person not manage to be in town for a couple of hours to meet a girl for a drink before dinner with a parent, on a SATURDAY for crying out loud? Until half an hour ago, my Saturday plans consisted of 4 hours of writing, a trip to East London for work stuffs, a drink with a hot guy at 4pm followed by a quick outfit turnaround in the toilets of my office into a fabulous dress for Nora and my trip to the Prince Charles Cinema’s Labyrinth Masquerade Ball at 8pm.
I replied. Pretty swiftly.
Good call? Or am I being a total diva?