You are currently browsing the daily archive for March 6th, 2008.
It all started innocently enough. J sent me an e-mail late yesterday, asking if I’d want to have a “date night” tonight. What a wonderful idea, I thought; just what I need
We agreed to meet in Chinatown at 6. Because I’ve been totally in the zone with train timing this week, I arrived at 5.54. Perfect. Predictably, he was late. Did I pass the time by going to starbucks, having a nice drink and doing my reading? Writing? Anything? No. Did I go into Ann Taylor Loft and see a lot of cute, cute spring clothes? Yes. Did I feel like I had time to try on “just this top”? Yes. Did I buy “just this top”? No. Oh no. Ann Taylor was a twenty-minute death trap. I bought the top, plus the suit the mannequin was modeling with it. The full suit. It’s adorable, but seriously? Also, because I was getting a suit, I figured hey, I could use another nice button-down shirt, too. And charge it, please!
J still hadn’t been in touch after the friendly cashier was done assaulting my platinum visa. He was stuck at union station; the trains just weren’t moving, apparently. He asked me to just come to him; we’d have date night around there instead, he said.
The moment I walk onto the union station platform, the opposite train comes. “We can still make it,” J says. So back on I go.
I should point out here that I dislike commuting by train immensely. The shorter the better. Hence, I was in a rather foul mood when I was deposited back in Chinatown, squished and jostled with nothing to show for it.
Finally breathing real outside air once more, J asks: “so, where should we go?” No plan. The man had no plan, no reason for dragging me on a commute-time metrorail scavenger hunt for nothing across greater DC. I think it goes without saying that conversations from this point forward were strained.
I sullenly ate my dinner; he berated me for “being so angry.” “It wasn’t my fault,” he said; “it’s not about fault, it’s about attitude,” I responded. Yeah. Really cool.
We spilt off towards home the way angry siblings happily abandon the cramped backseat after a long car ride. I spent the evening mostly wanting to kick him in the shins and laugh; he probably wanted to pull my hair and pinch me. Thank freaking goodness we don’t live together yet. Coming home alone has really helped me chill the heck out.
He’s just called to say we’re on for a do-over Saturday. I’m not crossing my fingers, but I’ll give it a fair shot. Eh, whatever. The platinum visa, however, may find itself on temporary assignment to the freezer. Or somewhere else where it will stay out of trouble.
