Peter and I go out to celebrate my new found apartment. Off to an nice outdoor cafe on the corner of 14th and "I’m gonna get mugged". We’re midway through our 2nd bottle of wine.
I’m staring at my phone, sulking. "What’s wrong?", Peter questions. Well, I had an IM chat with Eduardo today, he’s supposed to call, I text’d him and he’s not replying either. I want to see him.
"WTF is your problem?", he asks. Taking a drag on his cigarette, Peter leans back in his chair, and then in a rapid fire banter that only a Manhattanite could deliver, he starts….
DUDE, he’s twenty f-i-v-e f*cking years old. So? What’s wrong with that.
You’ve forgotten more about relationships than this guy can remember. OK.
There is nothing this guy can throw at you emotionally that you can’t easily handle and you won’t even break a sweat. Fine.
This guy has gotten, you, the tiger by the tail. Perhaps he’s scared. Pause. In your case, maybe not by the tail. Great now everyone’s a comic.
This is some little game he’s playing, I know you. You hate bullsh*t and games, I’ve watched you send people into a lunar orbit for less offending behavior, so why are dealing with this sh*t? Because I like him.
Great, but it’s his problem to figure this out, not yours. You’ve been open & honest.