The Prowl: Return of the Pizza Maker
A few months back, I had a one-night stand with a pizza maker. After a great date, he stood me up twice and I never heard from him again... until this week.
For those of you keeping track at home (and it's perfectly reasonable if you're not), my first column for FrumForum detailed what was essentially and regrettably a one-night stand with a pizza maker. After a great date, and then some, he stood me up, twice, and was never really heard from again ... Until this week!
Well, that's not entirely true either. In the interim between then and now, I have seen him and spoken to him on two occasions. The first time, about a week after he failed to materialize for the second time at the specified time and place, I physically walked into him at the Eastern Market while trying to maneuver the purchase of a baguette and simultaneously compose an email to my boss (yes, I was that girl). We had a few polite words and I made a quick exit, feeling thoroughly embarrassed that he had seen me wearing my default disaster-pants rather than my aspirational on-the-ball-pants. The only other time I have run into him was just before Thanksgiving when we both clearly made eye contact in a bar during a Happy Hour. We made the mutual decision to pretend that we hadn't and ignored each other. For the record, I feel strongly that he had no business being there and should've been off making pizzas, but this seems beside the point. What was the point is that we both pursued a rather childish course of action, which to be honest was preferable to the alternative of having to make stupid banter with a person who did not respect me enough to simply use a telephone. At least that time, I was a moderately put together person and was not running into anything/one.
But on these occasions I wish very much that I was an Alpha version of myself: funnier, prettier, cooler, etc. He would then see his huge mistake and beg for my forgiveness. I know this is immature and vindictive, but I'm only human, and a pretty socially awkward one. Did I ever want to bring a hot date to his restaurant and have a romantic evening there? Of course. Did I think about ordering hundreds of pizzas under a silly yet not easily detectable pseudonym? Yes. But I did neither of these things. Nor did I call anyone about health code violations or allow a friend to stab/castrate/poison him, all of which were also briefly considered as options. Instead, I simply got over him and became distracted by newer and shinier models (i.e. tall, dark, and handsome investment banking boyfriend). Indeed I forgot about him except as a somewhat humorous anecdote.
Then, out of the blue, Pizza Maker called me at 11:30PM last Sunday night. I was in the midst of my Sunday night quiet time--which because I am not a very exciting person, usually involves cleaning my apartment and folding laundry. My friends have since asked me why I bothered to answer his call at all. The simple answer is that I was frankly just too curious to hear what he could possibly want to say. Turned out it was this: He said that he'd been thinking about me and just wanted to know how I was doing. That, and he wanted to know if he could come over?
I told him everything was fine, it was nice to hear from him, etc,. but no, he should stay home. He asked again to come over, invoking the word “please”, and added he would be a perfect gentleman and simply wanted to catch up. At that point I made it very clear that I had every intention of going to sleep soon, and doing so alone, and that while I appreciated he might be lonely, he should look elsewhere for company. If he really wanted to "chat," as he claimed to be interested in, I suggested that he should ask me to have coffee sometime later in the week. I stressed (again) that we were not going to sleep together, like EVER, and by the way, I now had a boyfriend. Still, he asked a third time before finally letting it go.
Of course by this writing, I've yet to hear from him again about that coffee. This is not a great loss. But I do wonder what we'd talk about? His dislike of the gluten-free movement? My enthusiasm for utensil-less meals? March Madness? Doubtful. But I'm glad he did call me on Sunday, if for no other reason than it gave me the chance to convey: your loss, bud.