Three Strikes, You're Out

It all started when Tall-dark-and-handsome came to visit his father at work. He sat and talked to me for a few minutes while he waited for Dad to come downstairs. We chatted about school and stuff, and I told him the complete truth: I'm starting school again in the fall; I'm studying communications/Marketing, but I'm still not sure; I live in an apartment downtown. I was wearing my wedding ring and assumed I'd never see this kid again, so I guess I wasn't completely clear that I haven't started school yet, I'm not currently studying anything, and I live in an apartment with my parents and siblings. I'm pretty sure he assumed I'm older than I actually am, too. 

The guy told me a little about himself as well. He's finishing up his degree at BYU. Some other stuff that I can't remember. (Once again, I was wearing my ring and truly thought he'd go home and I wouldn't have to bother with him again.) His relative finally walked out of the elevator and off they went. Out the door, out of sight, out of mind.

Wrong.

Later that day I got at email from Tall-dark-and-handsome. (Shall we think of a name for him? I think...Skip.) Skip wrote that his Dad had clarified that yes, the ring is fake and no, Bonnie is not married. (Thanks a lot, Dad.) So Skip decided to give me his phone number and suggest that we go out sometime.

I thought, "Hey, I'll take a chance. I've had some crappy dates recently but why not? It could be fun."

False.

Skip texted me a few times over the next few days but then decided to forget me altogether. Two months passed and I didn't hear a word from him. Eventually I just deleted his number from my phone because I didn't wanna deal with it. Strike One (Two months? Really?)

The real shock came when I saw a certain message in my email this afternoon. Skip was apologizing for being completely silent for so long. He wanted to know what I was up to. And if I wanted to go out sometime. Friday? Okay. Friday. (Although I'm pretty sure he's emailing instead of calling because he got rid of my phone number as well.) Strike Two. (Over email? Really? That's worse than texting.)

Oh, but wait. Apparently Skip forgot that his friend's wedding reception is Friday, so we'll have to reschedule for Saturday at seven. Strike Three. (What's going through my mind? Skip "forgot" he had another date scheduled for Friday, and wants to score two dates with two different girls in the same weekend. Men.)

I'm pretty sure I should be done with it. No, I won't go out with you. Forget it.

But his dad works here, so I'll just have to suck it up.

Blah.

Is there ever a fourth strike?