He Who Must Be Obeyed and I had a discussion in the car last week. We were talking about – actually I was moaning about – when playmates get cold feet and bail out at the last minute, often unexpectedly. We had a bit of a disagreement as to what ‘cold feet’ actually means – I thought that it meant that the person has decided that he/she doesn’t fancy you, whereas HWMBO thought that it meant that they were scared, not that they didn’t fancy you.
Hmmm. Anyway…..
I had a frustrating ‘playdate’ recently, turning up to see a new playmate – we’d already met previously and agreed to play, sorted out a scene etc. Although the scene was meant to start more or less as soon as we met, we had some drinks, then he took me out to dinner, then he put me on a tube home. No play took place. I had a very pleasant time – really nice guy, whom I fancied – but felt more than a little frustrated as I’d been building up to playing but then nothing happened. I did actually ask the new playmate about playing, but he said he would prefer to “get to know me a little better first”. Well that’s ok. Very gentlemanly. But we’d agreed to play. So why didn’t he want to when it came to the crunch?
I have had cold feet myself about something – I’ve met somebody for a drink, got slightly more drunk than I intended and agreed I’d like to play at some point in the future. I then have the mortification of sending a polite email to say ‘no thanks’. In the cold light of day, your decisions (especially those influenced by that great social lubricator, alcohol) are sometimes not the ones you would have sensibly made. But I’ve never gone to an actual playdate, discussed it etc and then thought “Arghghg, can’t do it!”
My very wise friend Martha summed it up for me in a post-mortem*.
“He got cold feet” she said succinctly.
“So he doesn’t fancy me?” I said.
“Has he been in touch since?**”.
“No.”
“Sorry dear. He’s just not that into you.”
“So why did he arrange a fucking playdate with me then?”
Martha raised her eyes to God and his heavens.
“Men. They are weird.”
Tell me about it!”
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*I didn’t kill him by the way; it just came up over dinner with her!
Meh. His loss. Why don’t boys come with instruction books?
They do – the instructions state that xx they’re impossible!
Jessica, given the chance to play with you, I wouldn’t fall by the wayside.
I might die after the event, but what a way to go.
Warm hugs,Paul.