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The Robber of Future Children

January 11, 2012

I took a leap of faith a few days ago and sent a text to a guy I had been chatting with. I suggested we meet up for coffee or something (emphasis on the something, of course!) and then I sat about waiting for a reply. As the minutes turned into hours, I did want many (completely sane) girls do when waiting for an answer: I went a little bat-shit crazy with theories as to why he wasn’t responding. Not legitimate theories, but those out-of-left-field-make-no-sense-in-the-light-of-day theories.

I spent the remainder of the day being that annoying friend who constantly checks her cell phone while dining out. While my friend’s discussed the finer points of why Marchand should or shouldn’t be suspended, I was in the bathroom contemplating reasons why my phone was still silent. (For those who care: Marchand was suspended five games – see the video at the bottom of this link to learn why- and I completely agree with the decision but I also have a real hate on for Marchand as a player. He’s a glorified goon. If I ever see him in my team’s jersey, I’m switching teams. Not a joke.) While my friend’s were clapping along to our friend’s band, I was going over every previous interaction looking for the moment I went horribly, horribly wrong with my assumption that the feelings were mutual.

What have I done to cause him to not respond?

The middle of the night found me staring at my ceiling going over every possible reason, no matter how crazy, that he hadn’t replied. He’s a computer guy (true) and was able to find my IP from when I googled his name and then traced me snooping through his facebook and his twitter and then followed my IP here and saw this site and it freaked him out! (Probably not true.) He was some how able to hack my email and found my NSFW description of his backside to my friend. (Probably not true.) We have a mutual friend in common that badmouthed me. (Possible.) Oh god, it’s that ex from six years ago who hates me because I called the cops on him and the RCMP later rejected his application because of it! (Last I heard, he was up in Yellowknife so probably not true. Also, I called the cops because he was drunk and pounding on my door. Nothing serious, just frightening for a single girl.)

Round and round the ideas swirled when suddenly Robber of Future Children jumped into the fray. It helped calm me down and I was able to step away from the crazy and return to sleep.

Once upon a time, when I was 26, I took a class and met a guy. We flirted, we studied, we agreed to go on a date. I had lunch plans with some girlfriends on the same day as the date. My date that evening was a popular topic and we returned to it again and again through out the course of lunch. I was nervous. It had been a long time since I had been on a proper first date, and I could think of a million excuses why I shouldn’t go on this one. One of the girls, noticing my shaking hand as I talked about the date, reassured me that it would be fine.

“But that’s the problem,” I replied.

“You’re nervous that the date is going to go well?” I watched them share a puzzled glance across the table. Couldn’t they see how obvious it was that things going well could be a problem?

“What if tonight goes well, and we end up dating for, I don’t know, let’s say four years. Then in four years time, things go south and we break up. I’m still only thirty, I can date again and find someone else. He’ll be 41. I’ll have pushed him into another decade,” I explained, my voice getting higher and faster. “All of a sudden, he’s pushed back into the dating world at a time when he’ll be dating women who have children from a previous relationship or have decided they don’t want children. But what if he wants children? He’s in an entirely different dating range, and I did that to him. I robbed him of future children!”

The table was silent for all of 10 seconds before my friends erupted into laughter. Beside me, one of them laughed so hard she snorted and started banging the table in some bizarre attempt to get her breath back. Across from me, the other one cried as she repeated robbed him of future children again and again. The hilarity of what I had just said hit me and I laughed along with them.

And that’s where worrying about things I can’t control gets me: loudly proclaiming myself the robber of future children in a busy restaurant before I’ve even gone on one date with the guy.

I don’t know why he hasn’t responded and I might never know why he hasn’t responded. Maybe he’s really busy. Maybe he’s taking a page out of the Swinger’s handbook and waiting three days (Best part of that movie is remembering that Vince Vaughn used to be really skinny!). Maybe I misread the signals and this is his way of saying no. Maybe he was kidnapped by a gang of Siberian Gulag escapees who are holding him ransom in the sandy wilds of Namibia and no one knows because the kidnappers can’t find an internet connection to upload the ransom video. Whatever the reason, pouring over every nuance of every word I ever said to him isn’t going to give me the answer. Staring at my phone thinking about times I could have made it clearer that I liked him but didn’t isn’t going to make it ring. I’ve put myself out there and that’s all I can do.

Besides, his calling or not calling does not change the fact that I am so fucking money.

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