Well, I decided I wasn’t ready to call quits on the Banker just yet, so when he invited me to dinner Friday night, I accepted his invitation. Today, I even got, (dare I say it?) giddy when we started texting back and forth to make arrangements. I’m a modern girl, and I love a flirty text.
Over a period of about 20 minutes, we messaged back and forth, discussing restaurant options, schedules, etc. (“Risottoria?” “I hate paying for food I can make better myself. Risotto is my best recipe.” “In that case, maybe we should just stay in…” “I don’t put out Risotto til at least the 4th date…” etc.) (note: Thomas Hardy I’m not.)
Anyway, it was going so well, and I found myself smiling at the thought, when, all the sudden, horror of horrors, my phone rang.
“Hello?” I say, bewildered.
“It’s me.”
“Uh, hi.”
Awkward silence.
“I was just calling cause I figured, instead of going through a whole long back and forth thing we could just figure it out over the phone…” He says.
But….but….we were texting!
I don’t know, guys. On the one hand, everyone hates an immature boy who panics at the thought of making a phone call, so I’m pleased to see that at least this social function is not lost on him. On the other hand, why ruin a perfectly good,flirtatious text messaging session with a perfunctory and utilitarian phone conversation?
Making dinner plans is not that hard, but the beauty of a text is that it’s supposed to be drawn out…shouldn’t he want an excuse to talk to me more?
The Banker may be a little too no-nonsense for me…
-Eve
