It all started when you caught the eye of someone real cute.
So you prepared extra-meticulously for your date.
You even rehearsed your casual-yet-effectively-sensual hair-through-fingers move.
On the date, you said all the right things to make you sound really, really cool.
You shared many a laugh, and were good about pity-giggling so as to boost their ego and make them really enjoy their time with you.
You moved fast. But you were ready.
You weren't afraid to ask the big question on your mind:
And you were sure make a memorably sultry exit.
You felt unusually good about yourself. Great, even!
You caught yourself smiling at the smallest reminders of that wonderful night you shared.
And, behind closed doors and away from the cynicism of the world, you expressed nothing but unfiltered joy.
So what if it's been 68 hours since you last spoke? A little annoying sure, but you can brush it off!
Ok, 72 hours. Three days, officially. There must be a sensible reason.
To avoid thinking about it, you go out. Whatever!
This results in a hangover and an un-updated text conversation.
Life moves on. But you can't.
You start to question everything, starting with your looks.
You replay every millisecond of the date in your head. Where did you go wrong???
Are they not texting you to make you want them more? Or did Thursday night mean nothing to them?
You're real touchy now. Your friends are scared to even ask about the date anymore.
"It's not fair it's not fair it's not fair!", you bellow out to an invisible audience.
"WHY DOES THIS ALWAYS HAPPEN TO ME!" you shout into the abyss.
You can't imagine anything worse than not getting a response. Even if it's just a "hey."
You've given up on modern romance and realized it's not for you.
Life returns to its normal, static self.
But wait. Did your phone just light up?
YOU GOT A TEXT BACK AND ALL IS RIGHT IN THE WORLD.*
