Boys Are Weird

To recap:

I have been flirtexting with SmartyPants since February 9th, a date which I discovered this weekend as my best friend (a not-even divorced gal who already has a new boyfriend...wtf...further proof that I have some fatal flaw I'm blissfully unaware of) gave me grief about the integrity of this boy becuase we hadn't been out in a month+. I then explained that we should have been but that I kept cancelling which begged the question "who's prompting these dates?" It was mostly even, my having played generally coy after the Valentine's Day rejection debacle.

This was also the night of the previous entry's "Grats" zinger which I was convinced was a very concise "fuck you, lady" from the opposing party.

Then, last night, I'm bathing my kid and doing laundry (maybe this is why I have a hard time feeling sexy?) when I get the following text:

"whatcha up to, miss antisocial?"

Frowning, I stare at my phone, reliving the word "Grats" in my mind before replying, shortly and without my usual flair, "living on the edge...night of laundry" without a counter question.

I am equally suspicious and unforgiveably excited (how is that possible for a dude I've NEVER MET. Maybe I'm having shades of "You've Got Mail" and thinking Tom Hanks is sitting somewhere in the Northland having as much consternation over our communiques as I am)

"Am I still on the meet list or did you get a better offer?"

Wait, WHAT!? I think my head spun around and I'm really officially confused. My gut wants to spill my confusion and call him out on the "grats" blow off, but...but the thing about texting is that you don't want to be that chick that sends one text that turns into four messages via. I AM that chick as any of my friends would hopefully lovingly attest, but I a try not to look like a crazy person TOO early (although at this point, between blown dates for work, people dying, and bronchitis, I probably seem like the "I have to wash my hair" excuse girl)

So, I say: "haha, I was thinking the same of you!"

Becuase I was. Really. I mean, logic (I don't know why I have any business throwing this word out...i know LOGIC isn't a prime player in the game of love and war) dictates that a blowoff is an indication that SmartyPants is still trolling match.com and was ON a date (still possible) Saturday night and wanted to, considerately, not be found texting another chick. He also could have been out with his boys for all I know, but, bottom line is: when you like someone, you talk to them. You don't shorten a five syllable word to one syllable as a sign of affection.

So, why, oh, why Smartypants, are you texting me on a Tuesday night and trying to turn the tables around as if I'm the blow off party?

"If you knew me well enough to trust me, I'd say trust me that this has been a crazy series of unfortunate events preventing us from making this little meet and greet happen" I say in response to a quick back and forth about who is blowing off who.

"Uh huh."

"Does that mean you don't believe me?"

"No, that's a "i kinda feel like i have to pull teeth to get some interest"

The funny thing is...I KNOW this gig. I am the MASTER of this "got you right where I want you" gig. This is MY gig, SmartyPants! Back the hell down on this too cool for school thing.

"Okay, let's do this. For real. Sickness free, work free, stars aligning...bells ringing, angel choirs...whole shebang" I text, feeling both over it and inexplicably desirous to close this deal at the same time.

My fear is he will be totally lame in person.

My fear is that I've met my match via text...one which I need to prove I can stifle in person.

My fear is that we'll just stare at eachother and a month's worth of flirtexting consternation will all be for naught.

"What's your best offer?" he asks.

Eyebrow quirked, suspicion back in play, I respond, "how good does my offer have to be?" (maybe I'm hoping he's secretly the guy with a girlfriend in Iowa my younger sister seems convinced he is by the reading of the flirtext saga and a quick talking of his facebook. If he was a douchebag, I could dismiss him more easily. the quasi d-bag/charmer is the one i fall for hopelessly. damn you, first boyfriend!)

"lol, not that good"

"good answer" (Really, good answer. Anything else besides that would make me thing he's legit sleazy which he edges on just enough to keep me intrigued)

We compare schedules and are both busy the rest of the week.

"not that we don't rate weekends, but happy hours seem so nice and innocuous," i throw out.

Now, had he said that to me, I might have been offended...but I say it anyway. Becuase we're two strangers poking at eachother and at least one of us that I can accurately account for keeps being surprised by her continued interest. I've got to believe it's his own, perhaps begrudging, continued interest in a girl who keeps cancelling on him that keeps him texting and ultimately has him respond to my slightly pithy statement.

"ok"

"ok?" I ask. Did I ask a question?

"Monday it is. where?"

And thus the most hard-won date on earth was rescheduled.

Dear dear Smartypants, you will either be a massive waste of my time and have far too many blog posts devoted to you, or, dear readers, you are witness to the beginning of something interesting...