Super Freak

You'd think by now that I'd know better than to assume a date is going to be great fun. That I'd know by now that the times I assume everything is going to be peachy keen is when it's going to be a disaster. Case in point: I was supposed to meet Superman for drinks a week ago. And I was really looking forward to it.

So the day rolls around, and I get a text from him that says, “Hey love, may have to reschedule.”

Um, I beg your pardon? Love? You’re not LL Cool J, so don’t call me Love. And yes, I’d let LL Cool J call me Love, and would be totally fine with it.

Anyway, I replied with, “Love don't live here anymore.” Just kidding. But I wanted to. I said, “No worries. Keep me posted.” Not even sure what that means, but he thought it was hilarious, because he replied with, “lol. Tx will do.”

He’s a school teacher and he texts like a tween.

Anyway, I figured that was that, and went on with my day. Well, that was certainly not that. Because around 3 p.m., my phone buzzed and I had a new text from Superman (which, I’m beginning to think I was a little generous with that name, guys).

So I opened up my phone and found this little gem: “want to go to that one place?”

Well yes, I’d love to go to that one place. Who doesn’t want to go to that one place? That one place is great!

Pretty confident he was trying to make plans with someone other than myself, I replied with, “Sure.”

Ten minutes later, after assumedly pacing around his classroom trying to figure out how to politely tell me he meant to invite someone else, Superman replied with the obligatory “lol” followed by, “sorry wrong person.”

Oh, I’m aware. At no point did I think the invitation to that one place was meant for me. A minute later, he texted again. “Friend in town for the night, ie: why I canceled. How’s next week?”

There were just so many things wrong with that message, I couldn’t reply. But he wasn’t done. A little after midnight, I was interrupted from my beauty sleep by a buzzing phone, and presumably a buzzing Superman.

He must have been out at that one place, and felt the need to text me, “what’s up.”

Weeknight booty call from a stranger? Get bent, Clark Kent (oh snap!).

I deleted his number and went back to bed.

NEXT!