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Earth laughs in flowers.
— Ralph Waldo Emerson

No woman needs to wait for a man to buy her flowers.

And why should she, when they’re as gorgeous as this?

I am extraordinarily patient, provided I get my own way in the end.
— Margaret Thatcher

Oh my god. Tuesday night I could hardly wait for today. Because today is the day Pub Crawl Boy (I know – it’s totally romantic, isn’t it?) and I were meant to have drinks after work. He IMed me Tuesday night and we chatted and he asked when I was free this week. We settled on tonight at 6, at a place near where I work that, he says, has amazing mojitos, which he loves (and coincidentally, so do I). He said he couldn’t stay long but that he really wanted to see me.

Then I spent two days furiously texting and emailing Karen discussing what to wear. I shopped last night for three effing hours and tried on 22 pairs of pants and NONE of them fit me quite right. I hate shopping. Malls make me crazy, but I did it because I didn’t want to wear my favorite dress (even though it looks smashing) and appear to be trying too hard. So I came home with a super-cute shirt from Banana Republic, but decided this morning that it was too low cut to wear to work, so I chose another outfit. The pants are really too big for me, but they were the best of a rapidly diminishing set of options in my closet. But by the time I got to work, though, they were stretched out from sitting on the train, and I didn’t feel confident anymore.

So I ditched work at 11 and walked 6 blocks in 95-degree weather to H&M, where I tried on 9 more pairs of pants and finally came up with a pair that were ok, and definitely better than the ones I had on, except that they were way too long. Luckily, though, I am so resourceful (and apparently careless with my employer’s time) that I stopped by CVS on the way back to work and picked up a sewing kit, and then locked myself in my office where I promptly cut off the cuffs of the pants did a quick whip stitch to get them to the right length. Have we not already established that I am a bit crazy? Yes? Ok, then.

So I was all set – I had brought make-up to touch up before leaving the office, and I was going to change just before I left for the bar. Around 3, I thought to check my gmail again, just in case, and there was the email I had feared I would get – he had to bail, he said, and he was sorry, but he hoped next week would work. My heart dropped. I didn’t know what to feel. Because he didn’t explain, my immediate reaction was, he’s having second thoughts. But then I reminded myself about the things he’s said so far, and I decided to trust the universe and see what happens. I emailed back: That’s disappointing; I was looking forward to seeing you. I hope everything’s ok. Let’s talk soon about next week. Almost immediately, he replied: Yeah, it sucks. I just have to finish this report for work today. Believe me, I’d definitely rather be drinking mojitos with you at 6 today.

So there you go. I have to wait til next week to see him, but he still wants to see me, and that’s what’s important, right? Patience, as I’ve told you, is really not my strong suit. And as much of an optimist as I am generally, I often have a hard time believing that new people I meet who act friendly really do like me, so my first instinct was to assume that he had changed his mind about me. I’m trying to remember that I know very little about what his life is like, and how busy his job is, and the only thing I can do is trust him and hope for the best.

And in a way, maybe it’s better – I ordered 7 pairs of pants online today, and they’ll get here before I see him again – maybe the perfect pair will be among them!

Men live by forgetting; women live on memories.
— T.S. Eliot

Is it really possible that I was wrong again? Maybe it’s too soon to say, but patience is not my strong suit.  More than one person has told me that men don’t have the same concept of time as women when it comes to things like this (and one less than helpful person said, “Was he drunk?  Maybe he forgot.”), and it isn’t as if I haven’t heard from him at all – I just haven’t heard the words I want to hear yet.

All this “play it cool,” “good things come to those who wait,” “don’t contact him” crap really makes me mad because it feels like a bullshit game, and it’s one I’m not interested in playing.  I don’t understand why, if I want to see him, I’m not “allowed” to just tell him so.  It’s not like I’m stalking him or hounding him relentlessly – I’m sending him a freaking text message, which he is free to ignore.  Relationship-wise, I’ve never gotten anything I didn’t go after myself; these things don’t just fall in my lap.  I’m the first to admit that I’ve been out of the dating game for a VERY long time, but it just doesn’t make any sense to me.

And what’s happening is, I’m beginning to doubt – him, the things he said, myself.  I remember the night we had, and I think, “He would never say those things and act that way if he didn’t mean it.”  Sometimes it helps, but sometimes I think, “What I mean is, I would never say those things and act that way if I didn’t mean it, so I really hope I can trust that he’s that way too.”

I don’t know what I hope to get out of writing this, but I’m going crazy leaving it all in my head.  Writing it makes me see that it’s probably a little obsessive, but I don’t apologize for that.  Things like this – meeting someone interesting who appears to be interested in me and says he wants to see me again – don’t happen to me, and I suppose I’m a little on edge trying to figure out what to do next.  Even if what to do next is nothing.  Christ, it’s a wonder to me people ever make it past this stage of a “relationship.”

I guess what I’m hoping for from you guys is just some perspective on the whole “call or don’t call” front.

I loved her: for her loyalty, for her sweet good humor, for the way she held her hair off her neck when she was hot; for the streak of sadness in her and for her belief that one true love could wipe it clean.
— from The Dive From Clausen’s Pier, by Ann Packer

It’s a funny thing, hope. One hopeful thing – a boy telling you, “I’d like to see you again” – can do so much to move you away from the hopelessness that you’d been feeling and which you thought was going to be endless.

Hope is what gets you out of the house on a Saturday night when you were planning just to stay home and mourn a friendship that might never be the same. Hope is what says, come on, you can’t just sit here moping; you never know what’s waiting out there for you. Hope is what leads you to put on what you feel most confident in, and lets you understand what he tells you with his eyes. Hope makes you feel like you can be anyone you want to be, because he doesn’t know you, but makes you realize that just being you should be enough. Hope helps you be strong enough not to shy away.

The thing that hope does, too, is help you see that this is not all there is for you. This is not all there is, one boy who broke your heart by accident. There is more, someone who will hold your hand while you walk down the street and guide you through a crowded bar with a hand on your back and watch you as you disappear down the escalator after a night of talking and kissing and getting to know each other.

But it’s a hard thing, too, hope, because you have to trust it. You have to trust that, if he said he wants to see you again and asked you if that would be ok, if he took your number and gave you his, if he kissed you first, if he told you that you’re beautiful, that he meant those things. And you want to believe it, because that’s who you are and what you do, but you’re not sure, because he still hasn’t called. And you tell yourself to be patient, but it’s difficult, because it feels like a game, this waiting, and you don’t understand why, if he wants to see you, he wouldn’t just tell you so.

But even if he never calls, you know that you will be ok, because hope has shown you that there is more than this for you. And there is no rule that says you can’t call him.