The Return of the Fig

Alternate title: Just how stupid am I?

I bumped into The Fig online, and we exchanged a handful of emails. Partly because I am not a very bright girl, and partly, frankly, because I'm wearing my James jeans and the (funhouse?) mirror at the gym seemed to suggest this morning that I might actually have lost some weight -- I suggested we get a drink. He said sure. I suggested a couple of dates. He has not responded.

I don’t know whether I’m more annoyed with him or with myself for even bothering. This is exactly what he did in September.

I happen to know The Fig thinks he’s charming. I’m so tempted to write to him and say that if he wants to carry on thinking of himself that way, next time he shouldn’t answer the drinks question at all.

But even I am not that stupid.