Still Steamed

I flatly refuse to give my phone number to men I meet.

I, naturally, have learned this the hard way.

Very rarely do I actually want to go out with anyone I meet when I've belted back a few. There is nothing worse than screening my calls because I'm too nice to actually tell a man that I think he is unattractive, in fact is rather stupid and that I would rather die alone and penniless, surrounded by 15 or 20 cats than pursue a relationship.

Yup, that would not go over well, you can imagine.

Furthermore, if he is a man I would like to see again, I hate waiting for him to call. I would much rather do the calling myself. I'm ballsy that way.

Sometimes, though, I will cave and give out my email address. In the interests of keeping the peace, and not being the instigator of fisticuffs. I abhor violence.

That is what happened on Friday. Despite my attempt to clearly explain that I am very busy, do not give out my number, am not interested in dating right now, and that it is my policy to not date ANYONE from this particular watering hole, I gave out my email address JUST TO SHUT HIM UP. I mean, the begging and pleading gets tiresome after a while. A girl can only listen to so many compliments, after all.

So, now I am desperately wishing he would email me, so I could tell him what he refused to listen to (and I'm pretty sure I know why he hasn't, but that's a story for another day).

He's a smart man though. He didn't give me his number, because he KNEW I wouldn't call. He's got to get some points for that.