You got to swim before you fly

If Wes is playing it cool, I'm having another drink and going home . . . alone. Fuck. That. Shit.

I ventured to a new establishment to get my Canadian Stomp on Thursday night. I hung out with a girl from work, Nick 1 (who is madly in love with her) and Nick 2 (her sister's boyfriend). I had a real good time and met some new comer to the whole line-dancing scene, Wes. Wes was there with this real beautiful blond and her friend and her friend's boyfriend. I guess he had talked with Nick & Nick before and came over to make some small talk before the next dance. We all told him he was the Mac for scoring such a hottie and he said that he wasn't actually with her. We all started fueling his confidence telling him stuff like, oh man don't worry she's so into you, you'll get her number before the night is over . . . blah blah blah (she was actually into him by the way . . . sooooo obvious). He had a pimp Hans Solo moment and goes, "I know." So what was the problem, why wasn't he actually "with" her, then? I asked him when the last time he went on a date was and he said this past Sunday actually. Oh so there's the problem, he actually likes another girl and he doesn't want to get this one's hopes up. Admirable, Wes, admirable. Let her down easy.

"So you really like the girl you went out with on Sunday, Wes?" I ask.

"Oh yeah, she was fantastic."

"Great when are you going out with her again?"

"We were supposed to go out tonight but I canceled to come here."

There were no words, I just looked at him as confused as could be so he felt a need to explain. "I really like her and I want to see if she likes me as much as I like her."

"So you canceled on her to come here with a girl that is throwing herself at you but that you don't really like."

Now girls have been accused of having some pretty fucked up logic when it comes to dating but . . . this is absolutely nuts (I would like to point out that the last guy to accuse me have having fucked up logic did so through a make-believe myspace profile in order to see how much I cared about him after he "the real" him. . . er, the . . . oh nevermind, called me skeevy). Absolutely nuts. Nuts. "So when are you gonna call her, Wes, The Sunday Kind of Love, gal?"

"Oh, I'm going to wait until she calls me."

"Wes . . . you really like her, though, right?"

"Oh man, yeah, I didn't know girls like her were out there."

"But you're sure you're going to wait until she calls you, right? I mean you're sure that's the way to go?"

"Definately."

"Wes, before Sunday, when was the last time you went on a date?"

"Four years ago." I must have shook his unwavering confidence in the situation . . . because he suddenly asked, "Do you think she'll call?"

"Wes, you're here with this beautiful blond who . . . yep . . . she just shook her booty at you and all you can think about is that girl. Honey, you're asking the wrong person the wrong question."

I walked to my car in the rain that night. But it was a good rain. If you can't swim don't try to fly.

And I did call . . . just never seemed to be on time.