I know that I have to write a note. I still don’t know what it’s going to say exactly. I’ve given myself a deadline: It has to go into the mail tomorrow.
I mean, he only gave me the U.S. Postal Service to communicate through. How much of a hurry can he actually be in for a response?
I will have to meet him, if for no other reason than to say thank you in person, not to mention to see what I’m dealing with as he currently has the advantage there. And since he will probably end up at the neighbor’s at some point, I may as well make it on my terms.
But what are my terms? I wish I knew. This is really awkward. Really. I hate being put on the spot. This is just one of many reasons while I gave up dating for Lent … sometime in the last decade.
I’ve come to view dating a lot like eating chicken wings. They both can be very enjoyable – the odds just aren’t that good. They both require an awful lot of effort for what’s usually very little pay-off.