Turns out I care. Quite a few actually

Here are some dating tips—if the two of you haven’t had sex in four months… there’s probably a reason. And you may not like what it is.

I learned this reason after many Gins, a perfectly wrapped spliff [courtesy of me]and four months of dating/seeing [whatever-the-fuck-we-were-doing] a wonderful person. A man who has been nothing but kind, respectful and caring to me and who I will continue to place high on my dating roster. I mean, Six foot Two, can you blame a girl?

Six ft Two is critical information that will be relevant later.

A wonderful guy let’s call him The judge. I will give zero context as to why this nickname was chosen. create your own story as to why. got me The judge. Beaten. Not to say I wanted exclusivity or a relationship, I enjoyed my time and enjoyed his company. But damn it. Wow. He called out to his parents. Good job. Love your job.

I had not seen The judge in some time. The judge he texted me to ask if I wanted to grab dinner that night as it was his last night at university. Playing it cool, I answered immediately and ran to put on a tiny black dress, straighten my hair and “natural makeup”, shave, douse myself in the perfume he liked and sweaty bolts walk towards his.

But, like I said, super indifferent. A cool girl. You literally don’t care. Relaxed… right?

Now a key point is this The judge and I hadn’t had sex. Nanda. Nothing. I felt like I was fifteen again. And that was perfectly fine. It felt pure and romantic, I saw it as a refreshing change. Instead, I saw it as self-care, unlike my previous conquests.

On the first two dates with The judge, I was the one who said no because I didn’t see it as the “right” time. Also mitigating factors, but that’s a story for another time.

And we kept seeing each other‼ I thought I had struck gold. I don’t have to do things to keep going – what a gentleman.

Good. As Samantha says on Sex and the City… if it’s too good to be true, it probably is.

Well, I’m going. Totally cool and cool – I’m cool. We hang out, we laugh, we smoke, we drink, I joke with his roommate, he puts his hand on me, emotional music plays and I kill it. But that burning question is in the back of my mind. Why didn’t we have sex? I mean, it’s now or never, right? I’m treating it like the fucker got drafted to Vietnam.

I, tall and drunk, decided to ask him this. We’re adults, right? This is check in. This is dating in your twenties.

“Why didn’t we have sex? ″

I also watch:

“It’s okay that we don’t have it, but is there a reason or don’t you see me that way?”

Like I said, I’m pretty cool.

The judge he is taken by surprise. I shoot from the hip. He should know that. He begins to whisper and says:

“Well of course I want to, no of course I don’t see you in a purely sexual way… that would be wrong of me”

Feminist king.

So?

Mumbling dialogue that I can’t hear because right now I’m enjoying his earlier response and how I’ve crushed such a perfect man. I’m in my own world fueled by Gin and Weed. This bliss is then broken with:

“Please don’t throw your drink at me”

What? Oh, sweet boy, why should I do this? You are great‼ So respected‼ God, you are nothing…

Wait. What did you say? Then I think I might not like something that has been said. I’m out of Wonderland and back into a gloomy student garden with a crazy twenty one year old man in front of me.

I ask him to repeat what he just said. The G&T gripped firmly in my hand.

“Well, there’s a girl back home, and I’d feel disrespectful to her if I did things with you and also disrespectful to you”

What. O. Get married.

I’m desperately trying to wake up to accept this news. Part of me hopes he’ll start laughing, like it’s a joke, and everything is fine. I say part of me, I mean all of me, I was desperately hoping this was a joke.

It was not. It was just a very unpleasant truth and the reason we haven’t had sex.

The Beatles’ Don’t Let Me Down was playing in the background. Adjustment. That was the joke.

I sit there in complete disbelief. I didn’t know how to feel or what to say. They just played me The judge? Bastard.

Shit, am I the other woman? I was so angry with him, but I couldn’t decide what to say to this man.

But then the other side of me kept repeating in my head “Six foot Two, Six foot Two.” It seemed to equalize.

I chose to take a calmer approach. I questioned him about her. Asking if she was his girlfriend and what the hell was going on. You know, a cool girl approach, I don’t care, a very easy girl. You absolute mom.

I was told it was complicated that neither of them had acted on it, but it “was” there. What the hell is that?! But he liked it, and he liked spending time with me. But not just as friends. Oh, and he wants to see me after college and in the summer.

Writing it and re-reading it doesn’t sound great to him or me. You were not there! You must learn not to judge me when you read these stories. Oh, piss off; hope this makes you feel better about yourself.

I grab my phone and text my friends about this revelation. I’m Moses delivering some really bad news to his followers. Claws on screen to be consistent. It’s only seven in the afternoon. Christ. I felt so embarrassed. I had advertised this man and he had let me down.

He disappointed me despite the fact that the Beatles encouraged him not to. John Lennon warned you, Judge! This is not fair. I was so happy, and he ruined it. This is so typical. Such a hole. God, they’re all shoots. I can’t believe I fell into this mess – AGAIN.

He follows me, worried that I will leave. I assured him I wasn’t, as my KGB-style interrogation was certainly not over. I was just getting started. I dug through my bag to find a pack of cigarettes.

The judge tries to lighten the mood by saying, “I thought you gave up?”

Big mistake, mate! I hit him with this incredible line: “Well, I thought you were single. things change”. Is this “honestly dear, I don’t give a damn”? I like to think so.

Keep that vestige of self-respect, queen.

I chain smoke as I ask further. In my mind, we are in the USSR, I am a hardened Russian agent and The judge he is a conspiracy theorist who threatens the Motherland. How dare he! Great symbolism. Then I realize I’m like shit. I have been promised that he is not with her under any circumstances, and it is a complicated situation that he has to solve.

This is all from memory. I’m just as confused as you are. Who knows if what he said is true? I choose to believe it because I really don’t like the alternative.

“Six foot two, amazing kisser, kind, hilarious, great body” rings in my head. Every shared moment, every rom-com-esque memory flooded every sense I had. I hated him for it. I hated myself for it.

And with such burning hatred, I went to dine with him.

Don’t do it. Just don’t do it. I know.

After a bottle of sake, everything seemed fine. Of course.

I felt I could tolerate that. I said I was sorry for overreacting before that I didn’t care, and I wasn’t holding him and I didn’t mind. Which is fine. No, seriously, so good.

With a mouth full of sushi, I chose to remind him that I was NOT an option. To cling to any remaining self-respect. He agreed. If he had wholeheartedly agreed to it, there would be no one else.

He took me home. we got confused and realized we were both still very drunk. I knew it was goodbye. And I would make sure it was a solid and memorable goodbye.

The painful truth about why we didn’t have sex and the actual reality of this very crazy situation in between The judge and myself seemed to melt when he held me to the face, looked into my eyes, and said;

“I had the best night with you and the best four months with you.”

I don’t remember what else was said. the Saké really didn’t help.

The kiss goodbye gave Casablanca a run for its money. I remember that.

Arsehole.

I remember that neither of them wanted to stop. He was walking away to say, “Maybe things will be different this summer.” It was painful, but it felt so good. I didn’t care that I had been wronged. I didn’t care that he was going to hurt me. Because it felt so good.

I realized that I really didn’t learn anything in the last three years of university.

I chose to kiss his cheek and then his lips and ask, “is that a convincing argument? ″ I tried to suggest The judge to choose me causally. I hated myself for saying it.

He agreed that it was “very convincing”. I hated him because he was a great kisser. I hated him for the way he held me. I hated him because he was handsome and funny and perfect. I hate him for being 6ft-fucking-2. I hated him for ruining it. I was very happy to be delusional. What a sting. God, couldn’t we pretend just a little longer?

We finally stopped after I held his face and told him he had to go. Yes, not even Jane Austen could write that. We agreed to see each other in Edinburgh.

I know it’s beyond stupid of me, but I couldn’t help myself. I read One Day once and tried to base every romantic interaction at university on that book – pretty subpar results. I hold out hope for Graduation.

But like I said, I’m relaxed. I don’t care if I see him pfft I don’t care.

I pulled down my dress, turned away from him walking down the street and up the stairs of my run down student house, smiling. God, am I not well? What a kiss! Look let me kill it.

I burst into tears.

I called my best friends, crying into the phone for them to come right away as Sake was at a loss for words.

Turns out maybe I did care. Actually, I really cared. Annoying, I still do.

I’ll probably see you in Edinburgh.