That's A New One

Last Friday I decided not to mope about the Australian and so went to a Christmas party, chatted to a guy for at least an hour, and he asked for my number. (Yes, an extraordinarily bold British boy. How refreshing.) I typed it into the mobile he told me was his personal one – he works for the Home Office. Given previous -- and recent -- experience I’ve nearly stopped believing any man is going to do as he says, but for a few reasons I really did think this one would call, and soon. He didn’t. I wasn’t superkeen anyway but a distraction would have been nice.

I bumped into him at the gym today – for the record, having never once seen him there before in my life.

“I was going to call you but I didn’t have your number,” he said.

I tried not to roll my eyes. Why not just say he’d been busy, for heaven’s sake?

“I think what must have happened is that you didn’t press the ‘done’ button after you typed in your number, so it didn’t save,” he said. “I was going to ask [the party hostess] for it, but I thought I remembered your connection to that party was pretty tenuous.” (It was. I went with two male friends whose pal had been dumped by the hostess when he moved back to California.)

I laughed. “Wow, that’s definitely a new one.”

He laughed, too. “Believe me, I never bother to make excuses why I haven’t called. I wouldn’t have asked for your number if I wasn’t going to call.”

He typed in my number himself this time.

We shall see.