"I think I have no short-term memory," I told a girlfriend recently.
Or a long-term memory. But that’s another story.
How else to explain the fact that I keep plunging head-first into the dating game despite being slammed into the pavement, again.
And again. And again.
Which is another way of saying, first I fall for this one fellow who immediately runs away.
Yet, barely minutes after we part ways, I immediately rush into a date with someone else and end up having a really lovely time. So why did he never call? Even after he said he would?
Which is another way of saying, Wham! As in: That’s the sound of my head hitting the pavement. Hard!
But do I stay home to lick my wounds? Recover from the sting of it all? Allow someone to wrap my skull in zombie head tape?
No. I. Do. Not.
A mere few days later yet another gentleman contacts me on Jdate who seems promising. We have a nice, engaging phone conversation and make a date to meet up. Only a few hours before our date, he cancels on me and then you got it. Disappears!
Ouch! Which is another way of saying, wait! Did I just plunge head first on the cold, hard floor? Again?
A normal person would retreat, no? Would just shut herself up in her house and never, ever, set foot outside again.
A healthy person with some memory cells left would be like, um, this dating stuff is rotten and unreliable and painful and I’d rather spend a quiet evening home drinking myself to death.
Or at least drinking coffee and writing and watching old Paul Simon clips on YouTube.
But not me.
No sirree, Bob.
I just keep at it.
Which is another way of saying, I have a date tonight! Wish me luck!