You're Doing It Wrong: Calling out a flake is not the answer

So you meet someone, and you have that all-too-familiar bar dance I like to call, “Trying not to look interested, totally interested. trying to look composed, totally unsure. Also, did I wear my sexy underwear?” You catch his eye, start talking, and within a matter of hours wind up with a number, at the very least. You follow up, or he does. Either way, you text throughout the week, and then comes Friday. Nothing. You thought you moved beyond the days when your “weekend barometer” was whether or not he wanted to see you. Nope.

You mope. You may go out, but you can’t stop thinking about it/him/why he didn’t get in touch. If he does, your heart leaps. But at best, his attempts are half-assed.

You’re mad. Not mad, ok, but lonely. You’re in a big fucking city - presumably full of men who’d find you witty and adorable - and you’re still alone. After two-plus weeks of his flakiness, you decide to write him a letter:



I haven’t heard from you in a bit, but I just wanted to be direct and say I have to move on. I can’t play your game. I can’t go for walks, talk lofty goals and whine about traffic with you anymore. I can’t take the back and forth. You want me or you don’t, and I can’t read which. So I’m pulling myself out of the running. You are a sweet sweet man, and I really thought we hit it off. Thanks for showing me some great spots in the city, and how nice it is to have a companion, however briefly.







First and foremost: The letter. If you had a friend in the same situation, and she read you this letter, you’d likely remind her of her early 20s, or hand her Mika Brzezinski’s book “Knowing Your Value” and tell her to read up. In short, don’t sound so desperate. And don’t simultaneously try so hard to sound un-desperate. By showing your cards to this guy - who is either not interested, interested (in sex), too busy or too scared, none of which are really what you’re looking for, I imagine - you appear vulnerable, even as you try to shut yourself off from him. Why tell him he’s a great guy, thank him for showing you what companionship can be, when what you mean is “Hey fuckhead. 2 a.m. texts every other Friday are not exactly what I had in mind.”

Ok, but don’t say that either. Say nothing.

Yep, nothing. Disappear. I know, it’s harder than hell to delete his contact info. God forbid you’re data is in the elusive “Cloud.” You’ll never get rid of that shit. But say nothing. Shut that door, even if he doesn’t see it close. And when he does - because he will wonder why you haven’t texted, or he will want a blowjob, or he will suddenly become “freed up” at work - ignore it. It’s not “different” this time. (unless it is, but I’m just going with the odds here).


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