The Reasons Men Don’t Call – or – Why I Didn’t Call You, Susie
January 20th, 2009 by Dilettante Derek
Ahh Susie, I remember the first time I saw you. You were playing Cricket on the second dart board near the jukebox. You had a terrible throwing arm and only hit the board one out of three times on average. When you landed that black dart in the creepy old guy’s beer, I was hooked. You were wearing jeans and a low-cut black shirt. Not slutty low-cut, but tantalizing. I bought you a drink, and we talked for hours. You were smart interesting and funny. But it’s been 5 days since that night and I still haven’t called. And Susie, I’m not going to.
I would love to tell you that it’s because I lost your number. After all, you scribbled 6 digits on a cocktail napkin with the pen I used to sign off on my bar tab. It would be easy to believe that it went through the wash with my pants, or I accidentally threw it out. Maybe I could tell you that during the taxi ride home I needed to spit. Badly. And in deference to my hired DD who resembled Billy Connelly without the accent, I reached for the napkin in my pocket, rather than attempting to hock a loogie out the window. And that I only realized my mistake a half a drunken moment later. Although this has happened to me, that isn’t why I didn’t call you, Susie.
I would love to tell you it is your fault. But it isn’t. You are beautiful. You weren’t too aggressive, too desperate, or too unavailable. I wasn’t only talking to you so that my buddy could bang your friend. You didn’t go home with me, make out with me, or allow me to grope you in a darkened booth. You didn’t say anything stupid, and there was nothing wrong with your hair, teeth or breath; there was nothing wrong with you at all. You committed none of these sometimes fatal errors when it comes to getting a second date.
The reason I didn’t call you, Susie, is because if I did, it would be because I wanted to get to know you better to see if we have potential for a relationship. And I’m just not that guy. I may be a commimentphobe, I may have a terminal case of Peter Pan syndrome, I may already be in a relationship, or know a girl who works in my building that makes my palms sweat when we share the elevator, and I might just be a jerk. Whatever the case may be, I had a great time, it was a fun night that I’m not sorry I shared with you. I hope that you will remember it well but, Susie, and all women, please understand that when you’ve bought a woman drinks and spent more than an hour talking with her, if you don’t leave together, asking for a number is far more socially acceptable a parting gesture than a hug, a smile and a “have a nice life.” It isn’t that you wouldn’t make a fantastic girlfriend, simply, not mine.
The biggest mistake is for women to expect to meet their next significant other looking through beer goggles, shifting uncomfortably on a sticky floor. Some people have indeed been successful at locating “the one” in a bar or a club, but it’s far more common to find “the one you say an awkward good-bye to in the morning.” When you go out, if you refrain from treating it like a relationship hunt, and instead realize that a night out is merely a forum for fun and adventure, then no one has to get hurt or unfairly question their worth or attractiveness.
So Susie, I’m sorry if my not calling you was even a blip on your radar. Because maybe if I had called the next day, as perhaps I had an inkling, my fear of rejection would have been realized. I would have discovered that you gave me the number to a gas station or you would have let my call go to voice mail and then asked your friends later, “Why did you let me talk to THAT guy all night?” I guess we will never know.
