Last night, for the first time in my life, I was stood up by a date.
Drip Café had set me up with the zany guy who responded to my profile; we were scheduled to meet there at 8:00. At 8:40, by which time he still hadn’t arrived, the Drip people called him at home.
Where he was.
It’s not clear to me whether he thought Drip was closed because of the blizzard, or just assumed I wouldn’t get through the snow, or what. Writing “theatre” instead of “theater” is one thing; not calling to let anybody know he wasn’t going to make it, however, is a far more serious offense. But the Drip woman on the phone with him told me several times that he felt really bad and that he said he would make it up to me. (She also told him, when I came up to the counter once they’d gotten him on the phone, that I was really cute, too, and he’d have to make it up to me big time. So I owe her one.)
Luckily, my friends B.N. and D.R. were already there, having come to Drip to spy surreptitiously on my date, so I just went over and sat down with them and vented and had an Oreo milkshake.
I’m willing to cut him a tiny bit of slack because of the blizzard. We’ve rescheduled for next week. But he damn well better bring chocolate and flowers.