Hating the Player

Saturday. 3:30PM.

"You don't want to watch the Germany/Aussie match tomorrow, do you? 2PM? For your birthday..."

Saturday. 9:00PM.

"Awww you remembered! I'm getting drunk with cousins tonight so I might be recuperating but if not we could hang out later in the day?"

"Sure." You'll be recuperating until 2 in the afternoon? I let it die. His birthday. His day. Chill out, Lauren.

Sunday. 1:46PM.

"Probably watching the game at Van Diemens today dear." Is that an invite? Is that a statement? Wouldn't he have said, 'Want to come and meet me at Van Diemens at 2:30?'

"Okay."

No response.

For the past month I've been the one suggesting plans. He either bails or tries to reschedule. I imagined myself walking into the bar and facing him and his friends, all surprised to see me since I was never technically asked to join. It was a possible confrontation I didn't want to endure.

Sunday. 7:10PM.

"You never made it."

"I didn't know if that was an invite or a statement. Probably for the best. Ouch, Australia."

"It was an invite, silly."

Am I wrong to want to be wooed? Invited? Wanted? We split every check. After I spent the night at his place for the first time and told him I really liked him, he didn't have time to see me again for a week and a half. I haven't seen him in a month because he is incapable of making plans in advance or following through on anything. He went to Europe for two weeks and texted me the day he got back. To ask to see me? No. Just to say hi.

"If he really liked me, he'd want to see me," I told a guy friend. He shrugged and agreed.

"Yeah."

Occasionally I feel crazy. I feel like I want too much, like I hold men to standards that no one could ever meet. But I think that I am not wrong to want to be wanted.