door.
Eventually, Seema slowly opens her door. “I’m sorry,” she says quietly, almost timidly. “You’re completely right, and I totally overreacted.”
She pulls him into a hug, and the two hug in silence for a bit.
“I’m really sorry,” Seema repeats. “Planning this wedding and dealing with our families has been way more stressful than I thought it would be, and I’ve been taking it out on you and I’m sorry.”
I watch Scott kiss her forehead. “Well, you’re pretty cute, so I guess you’re forgiven.”
Seema smiles, looks at her ring finger, and twirls around her engagement ring nervously. “So you wanna get the eggplant sheets instead?”
“The dark purple ones? God, yes,” Scott says, his shoulders visibly relaxing.
And the two of them get back to their Happily Ever After.
Which, overall, is a very good thing.
I just wish I hadn’t bought them those beige sheets. Now I have to go back to the store.
F IFTEEN
It’s three o’clock in the morning, and I’m now officially in my clingy phase. Some women deny the clingy phase—insisting that it turns men off. Yes, well, of course it does. So does nipple hair—which is why we do our best to try to hide it from them at all costs. But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist. Any woman who says she hasn’t gone through the clingy phase is either lying through her teeth or completely delusional. For me, the phase starts the second a guy doesn’t respond to my phone calls, texts, or e-mails fast enough. The phase is an inescapable step in the natural progression of dating for me, and it took me all of two days to become a freakin’ lunatic over Jay.
Monday went great. We texted each other throughout the day. He called me from his hotel room before bed that night, we talked until both of our eyes were heavy, and I nodded off to sleep feeling wildly content and wanted.
Then Tuesday hit. Tuesday morning, before I even brushed my teeth, I texted him a quick Good morning! . Two minutes later, I regretted writing it, as I didn’t want to look too available.
Then again, I reasoned, didn’t I clue him in that I’m available the minute I got naked with him?
I checked my iPhone and e-mails compulsively all morning. All for naught. He finally wrote back around lunchtime, but then only to say:
SF beautiful. Wish you were here.
A nice sentiment, to be sure, but that’s it??? All that talking back and forth yesterday, and now I’m downgraded to a sentence? My local bakery sent me a longer text this morning, and they offered me a dollar off cupcakes.
I spent an hour constantly checking my phone screen for more, and worrying about what to write back to his one sentence. I debated: I couldn’t write too much, as that would show too much interest. But if I wrote nothing, would that imply I’m not really interested and encourage him to go find another girl to write texts to? One sentence back was probably my best bet.
After a mental debate that proved to me that I need a job without so much summer vacation, I settled on the following:
Me too.
Then I waited five more hours for a response.
At six, I shot him another text:
Off to dinner. Are you around later so I can whisper sweet nothings …
Delete, delete, delete.
So we can have phone sex?
Ugh—no. Delete. I settle on:
Are you around later?
Two hours later (!) I get this back from him:
I don’t know. Let me call you later. Work not going well—been tied up in stressful meetings all day, now off to a stressful dinner, followed by stressful drinks. I’m exhausted, and wish I could just climb into bed with you and sleep.
And sleep? What on earth did I say in my texts that ever implied sleep?
So that was at eight. It is now five hours, three glasses of wine, two red-velvet cupcakes, a bag of M&M’s, and one personal pan pizza with pepperoni and extra cheese later.
And I am in my room, staring at his last message on my phone.
Damn it! I played it wrong again. I have been dating
Eventually, Seema slowly opens her door. “I’m sorry,” she says quietly, almost timidly. “You’re completely right, and I totally overreacted.”
She pulls him into a hug, and the two hug in silence for a bit.
“I’m really sorry,” Seema repeats. “Planning this wedding and dealing with our families has been way more stressful than I thought it would be, and I’ve been taking it out on you and I’m sorry.”
I watch Scott kiss her forehead. “Well, you’re pretty cute, so I guess you’re forgiven.”
Seema smiles, looks at her ring finger, and twirls around her engagement ring nervously. “So you wanna get the eggplant sheets instead?”
“The dark purple ones? God, yes,” Scott says, his shoulders visibly relaxing.
And the two of them get back to their Happily Ever After.
Which, overall, is a very good thing.
I just wish I hadn’t bought them those beige sheets. Now I have to go back to the store.
F IFTEEN
It’s three o’clock in the morning, and I’m now officially in my clingy phase. Some women deny the clingy phase—insisting that it turns men off. Yes, well, of course it does. So does nipple hair—which is why we do our best to try to hide it from them at all costs. But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist. Any woman who says she hasn’t gone through the clingy phase is either lying through her teeth or completely delusional. For me, the phase starts the second a guy doesn’t respond to my phone calls, texts, or e-mails fast enough. The phase is an inescapable step in the natural progression of dating for me, and it took me all of two days to become a freakin’ lunatic over Jay.
Monday went great. We texted each other throughout the day. He called me from his hotel room before bed that night, we talked until both of our eyes were heavy, and I nodded off to sleep feeling wildly content and wanted.
Then Tuesday hit. Tuesday morning, before I even brushed my teeth, I texted him a quick Good morning! . Two minutes later, I regretted writing it, as I didn’t want to look too available.
Then again, I reasoned, didn’t I clue him in that I’m available the minute I got naked with him?
I checked my iPhone and e-mails compulsively all morning. All for naught. He finally wrote back around lunchtime, but then only to say:
SF beautiful. Wish you were here.
A nice sentiment, to be sure, but that’s it??? All that talking back and forth yesterday, and now I’m downgraded to a sentence? My local bakery sent me a longer text this morning, and they offered me a dollar off cupcakes.
I spent an hour constantly checking my phone screen for more, and worrying about what to write back to his one sentence. I debated: I couldn’t write too much, as that would show too much interest. But if I wrote nothing, would that imply I’m not really interested and encourage him to go find another girl to write texts to? One sentence back was probably my best bet.
After a mental debate that proved to me that I need a job without so much summer vacation, I settled on the following:
Me too.
Then I waited five more hours for a response.
At six, I shot him another text:
Off to dinner. Are you around later so I can whisper sweet nothings …
Delete, delete, delete.
So we can have phone sex?
Ugh—no. Delete. I settle on:
Are you around later?
Two hours later (!) I get this back from him:
I don’t know. Let me call you later. Work not going well—been tied up in stressful meetings all day, now off to a stressful dinner, followed by stressful drinks. I’m exhausted, and wish I could just climb into bed with you and sleep.
And sleep? What on earth did I say in my texts that ever implied sleep?
So that was at eight. It is now five hours, three glasses of wine, two red-velvet cupcakes, a bag of M&M’s, and one personal pan pizza with pepperoni and extra cheese later.
And I am in my room, staring at his last message on my phone.
Damn it! I played it wrong again. I have been dating
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