It’s official

I’m Cursed. It seems the way to tell me you’re not interested in me at all is to schedule a dinner date or drinks on a night when I have plans, wait until late the night before when I’m asleep, and then break up with my Inbox after I’ve reshuffled my evening to accomodate you.

We all need signs, documenting our particular hangups and relationship dealbreakers. But the ultimate problem lies in that we need to meet one another to exchange them.

“I think we could be friends,” My ass.

Looks like I’ll be going to the game tonight after all.