Last night I did the bravest thing I’ve ever done in my life.
I asked the anaerobic physicist out on a date.
I left the following message on his cell phone:
“Hey, N., it’s Faustus, from your Friday step class. I’m calling because I heard from M.O. that you’re not seeing anybody at the moment, and I wanted to seize the opportunity to ask you out on a date this weekend. And I’m a fabulous date, so you should say yes. Call me at 917.xxx.xxxx and let me know, and either way I’ll see you in class on Friday.”
This might have been a little braver if I hadn’t written the message ahead of time and checked his web site to make sure he was teaching when I called and therefore unable to answer his phone.
It also would have been a little braver if I hadn’t called him earlier in the day from the phone at work, hung up when he answered, and answered his call back (damn caller ID) by pitching my voice higher, putting on a Southern accent, and telling him I’d called the wrong number.
Baby steps, Faustus. Baby steps.
Stay tuned, in any case, for an invitation either to a wedding or to a game of Drink Poison, Drink Poison, Explode With Joy.
I’ll be the one drinking poison.
Or, with all of the free sex to which you’ve obliged yourself due to the blogathon, it should be more than possible to fuck the pain away.
You know, if that option seems more appealing than drinking poison….
Damn that caller ID! Curses!
Your so brave!
fancy a shag?