Uh-oh. Another one is mad at me.
I pulled onto my street and saw my landlord talking to someone in a big white pickup truck. Hey, that looks like Mr.CoffeeEncounter’s truck. I park. I step outside of my car, almost directly next to this white truck. I look up. Crap! That is Mr.CoffeeEncounter’s truck! [For background info on Mr. CoffeeEncounter see: https://sarahbux.wordpress.com/2012/01/29/flirt-to-convert-prelude-to-a-coffee-encounter/ or https://sarahbux.wordpress.com/2012/01/31/a-coffee-encounter/]
I wave nonchalantly at my Mr. CoffeeEncounter and my landlord while I bolt toward my apartment. I hope he can’t tell that I’m about to pee myself. Here’s the thing: A month or two ago, Mr. CoffeeEncounter and I were texting. And… well, let’s just say it ended with a challenge… He made an effort to meet that challenge… Ummm… Long story made short – I told him if he wanted to spend time with me, he would have to show up on my doorstep when I just happen to be available. He tried a few times. I wasn’t available.
Needless to say, he stopped trying after that… and I had not seen him until this very moment of pulling up beside his truck. Surprisingly enough, he did not look so thrilled to see me!
After a quick but completely awkward exchange, he left and I went for a ride. The next morning I waltz into my unpaid therapist’s office at work and spill everything. This was the second guy I pissed off that week! I don’t try to make them mad. Why am I so good at making men angry?! (Could this be my spiritual gifting? Jesus made A LOT of people mad, right?….)
You see, Mr. CoffeeEncounter looked so pathetic and wounded that I initially felt guilty for the way I had treated him. But as I contemplated the situation on my motorcycle ride, I realized I had no reason to feel guilty. I reminded myself of all the reasons I gave him that “Show up when I’m not busy” ultimatum. The reasons boiled down to one primary “He always stands ME up!” No, no. I did nothing wrong.
As I stood in Mr. UnpaidTherapist’s office, I gave him a quick update of the situation and then asked him, “What am I doing wrong?!”
He laughed and began describing my Viking helmet. “Thor, you throw down the hammer.”
That’s it. That’s all the counsel he’s got for me. You see, a month or two ago Mr. UnpaidTherapist nicknamed me Thor. After I sought some clarification (“Are you telling me I look like a male demigod!?”] he assured me that the nickname is only due to my hammer throw-down. Apparently I throw down hammers all over the place… not just around guys I like. Not sure how to fix that. Or even if I should.