the cat came back

sometimes, I feel like I'm too picky for my own good.

Today, I came into work and everyone's smiling at me all knowing-like. What's up? Oh, there's something on your desk. oooookaaaaay. This isn't unusual. I have lots of things put on my desk - I'm the advertising PMR, after all. But there were more than posters. There was also a small bouquet of pink posies with a card that reads: "Sorry I didn't call. The longer I waited, the weirder it got. I thought I'd make it up to you." Well, well, WillSmith. Of all the people I have wanted to give me flowers over the years, over the last month, over the weekend... I didn't expect this from you. oh dear. How do I tell this very nice young man (and boy, is he young) that I don't think it's going to work out? Gosh, he really is ... nice. I feel like a cad. Here I thought I was off the hook when he didn't call. *sigh*

You know what I find particularly amusing, in a tragicomic sort of way? I feel like I'm cheating on The Gypsy, even though he hasn't emailed or called or even breathed a word of interest since I left him three weeks ago. I don't know how people can handle polyamorous relationships and multiple partners and serial dating when I can't get past the monoga-crush state. So, here I am with a flowers-bearing nice guy asking for a second date and I'm pining for man hundreds of kilometres away. Most people, I'm sure, would be downright unsympathetic. But that's why I have you, dear readers. Surely you, too, won't consign me to "niceness" just because it's convenient?