Crystal Clear, Razor Sharp

Loose lips sink ships

I have postponed writing an update from Saturday’s date, hoping the situation would change, but no such luck. I can’t run away anymore.

I was . . . emotionally unstable . . . after failing my stats midterm. Even though I didn’t get the score till this week, I knew it was bad. 68 percent. And anyone reading this and thinking “Oh c’mon, a 68 isn’t actually failing,” you can take my D+ and shove it.

Anyway.

Went on the date. After dinner Matt, kind and considerate Matt, wanted to hear all about my bad test. How sweet. We went to a park and walked around as dark was falling and I poured my pathetic soul at his feet. He was full of consolation and encouragement, and took my hand as we walked.

As the temperature dropped, we headed back to his car and talked some more. Then we stopped talking. He kissed me. He kissed me till all I wanted to was to block out the memory of my academic ineptitude. He kissed me right into the back seat of his stupid four-door coup.

I’m so . . . ashamed of myself. We are talking hot and heavy make out session. The whole show: fogged windows, roaming hands, flat-on-my-back-where-did-our-shirts-go, urgent kissing.

You might expect a little something to come of this, wouldn’t you? Another date. At least a phone call, I mean he’s got my number. I got nothing. I let myself believe he was just busy and he would talk to me at Service Club on Tuesday. Nope. He offered a polite kind of “Oh, hello. Yes, I know you,” and then ran off. He vehemently avoided me the rest of the night and hasn’t called all week.