Mixed Singles

Dear Swing Enthusiast,

I’m beginning to think I do not understand men at all.

Last week, as you may have noticed, I wasn't able to attend my regularly scheduled swing programming. Peggy reports that when the teacher called my name while taking the attendance, The Chief, Apple Guy, as well as Peggy, herself, all exclaimed I could not attend from three different corners of the room. I'm told it gave the illusion of my excessive popularity. It’s just the right mix of embarrassing and flattering behavior on the part of my main suitors to fatten my ego up a couple of dress sizes. Oh, how the mighty fall…

As you know, Apple Guy and I have been embroiled in a flirtation for some weeks now. After many nights of dancing, languid walks, and romantic winter conversations over hot chocolate at Le Starbucks, I have the distinct impression that Apple Guy is just waiting a few months for me to be officially through with the more-complicated-than-it-has-to-be "roommate" situation to make his move, which, for the record, I wouldn't have any other way... I think.

Apple Guy and I text all the time. From funny, nonsensical blurbs about our day to the occasional string of tawdry bedroom language, if we can think it, chances are we can abbreviate it for the purposes of flirty, effective text messaging teases. But, I’m pleased to announce, last Wednesday marked a radical shift in Apple Guy and my relationship.

He called me!

Yes, that’s right. Oral contact! Of course, I didn’t actually take the call, but rather stared at the phone in shock while, perhaps, squealing a little. Answering the phone didn’t matter. He left the sweetest message just to let me know he missed me at swing and was hoping I was doing well. Call me easy, but I was touched that he thought to call and still am. Apple Guy’s stock was rapidly rising!

Eventually, I called him back when I knew he’d be at work. And he answered anyway! We had a lovely conversation, which ended with him proposing a Saturday non-swing-affiliated hot chocolate date! My head was spinning we were moving so fast.

Fast forward to last Friday night on the eve of our impending cocoa tryst. I’m working one of my many starving artist survival jobs, which happens to be in Apple Guy’s neighborhood, when I get a text from the man himself:

happy friday, sara! i don’t know what to do with myself tonight. what r u doing? any plans?

I am, of course, amused by his thinly veiled proposition to spend a little of my Friday night with my Apple Guy would-be-beau. I decide to play this texting thread out while I figure out if I smell decent enough to paint the town red after working two jobs all day…

Me: I’m working in your ‘hood. What do you want to do tonight?

Apple Guy: just not sit at home alone and depressed.

Me: Oh no. Why depressed? :-/

Apple Guy: just my usual friday night nothing to do sadness. plus I got rejected by a girl the other day.

I’m not sure, but I imagine my head must have cocked to the side and my brow must have simultaneously furrowed after reading that last bit. What an unexpected remark! Perhaps Apple Guy was trying to be ironic. There was only one way to find out…

Me: Who? What did this girl do?

Apple Guy: just this girl at the office I liked for a while. i finally had the courage to ask her out. we did go out once. then yesterday she told me she doesn’t have time to date anyone. broke my heart.

You heard it here first, ladies and gentlemen. BROKE. HIS. HEART. Maybe he was just being honest. Maybe he was trying to let me know he wasn’t going to wait around forever for me to get myself completely disengaged. There is no doubt in my mind we’ve BOTH been into each other on a more-than-friends level up until this text messaging snafu, so why on Earth would he think I wanted to hear this? I mean, just because The Chief asked me to go away with him on an innuendo-drenched all expense paid vacation to Costa Rica at swing last night, doesn’t mean I advertise it to the world, especially to my other romantic entanglements. That’s what secret blogs are for, people! I was beginning to get the distinct impression that Apple Guy had suddenly decided to give me the brush off. But I thought, “Fine, Apple Guy, I’ll play into your twisted texting game.” I was going to kill him with kindness. The texts continued:

Me: Well, I’m sorry to hear that. Your girl is obviously on crazy pills. You’re 100% adorable.

Apple Guy: thanks, sara. u r pretty wonderful yourself.

What?! Yeah, don’t do my any favors, Apple Dick. Oh, and thanks for not calling me to have that hot chocolate on Saturday. What exactly is he playing at? What happened? Where did my sweet nerd man go? My disappointment knew no bounds.

Despite this setback, I had a blast at swing last night. The Chief offered me the world. (And, no, I did not accept.) The Commie kept his distance. Peggy and I started rumors in the corner like schoolgirls. I danced a few with some of the more advanced dancers, who recognized I was ready to follow their lead, broke a serious sweat, and forgot everything but the lindy for most of the evening.

Eventually, Apple Guy did approach me for a chat on the sidelines of the bustling practice session. He immediately apologized for standing me up for our hot chocolate date. He “forgot.” I hate to say it, but he was attentive, sensitive, and good humored during our chat. How confusing! We found ourselves looking out into the sea of dancers, specifically at Little Miss Perfect cutting an impressive rug. Perhaps I shouldn’t have, but I decided to let Apple Guy in on how it was I knew Little Miss Perfect and how sometimes seeing her brought back these negative feelings about our past experience together in the class from hell. She took swing so seriously, attacked it with all of her gusto, and, at the end of the day, was better than me just like she used to be in college. I confessed to him that I felt a little jealous whenever I saw her. Apple Guy, in turn, observed that Little Miss Perfect never looked like she was having any fun, while I radiated joy whenever I danced. He said he couldn’t take his eyes off me.

Yeah, I forgave him.

Yours,

Sara