The Courtesy Sentence: Part 3 in The Bachelor Boomerang

Back in February I jumped in a truck with Mark and Ku and headed to Columbia, MO to watch Mizzou play Florida in basketball. It was a Tuesday or Wednesday night, and although I don’t generally go out on school nights, the truth is that I needed to leave the house (whether I wanted to or not). I’ve always been a Mizzou fan, and a few hours in the truck with my brothers is what I needed.

So we’re within 45 minutes or so of Columbia, when Mark says, “Oh, by the way, I invited this chick out to meet us before the game.”

I was irritated. In my mental state, all I wanted was quality time with the fellas over a few beers and a few three-pointers. I didn’t want some chick friend of Mark’s tagging along. I was so scared of the real world that anything beyond this was a wild imposition. Still, I didn’t want to sound like a total baby. So, I kept my mouth shut, sucked it up, and went with the flow.

Long story short: I was instantly attracted to Melissa.

It was a few things, really, that drew me in. She was foxy, she was outgoing, she was quick on her feet. Plus, she was out on a Tuesday night having beers that she only slightly knew. I shared a cigarette with her in the parking lot of the bar before we parted ways with her to head to the game, and I got her number. I felt that old twinge from my bachelorhood days.

Melissa was safe for me: She lived 90 minutes away, which is about as close as I was ready to handle at the time. It wasn’t so close that things would quickly escalate into a full-fledged relationship. She is from KC, and her parents still live here, so I envisioned an occasional weekend relationship. Plus, I am now a season ticket holder for MU football, so I’d be in her neck of the woods at least a handful of times.

Weeks passed before our first text message exchange. After a few flirty texts, I found myself having a good time. It wasn’t anything steamy, deep, or inappropriate. Just a lot of easy banter. Every so often, we’d blast one another with fun conversation, then go dead air for a while. It was just enough to pique my interest. Just enough to warm me back up. Just enough for me to realize that I was closer to ready than I thought.

Summer came and went, and we weren’t able to sync up—either she had plans or I wasn’t available when she was in town. But there was no sense of urgency. It was perfect. When football season rolled around, I pinned her down: “Go to a football game with me,” I said. And she agreed. It seemed as though the chances of us getting together were better when I traveled to Columbia.

But at the home opener, she was at a wedding. Then the next game, she was out of town. Sometimes texts would go unanswered. My spidey sense was telling me that something was amiss. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, but I felt just the slightest brush-off. It wasn’t that I minded necessarily. But I did want to know what was going on. I asked Mark a few times, and he insisted that she wasn’t.

For the third home game, she’d offered a few weeks earlier that Mark and I could stay at her place. I figured this was the true test, as it’d been radio silence from her (save for a weird, late-night text which indicated to me that she’d been out drinking) in the weeks since. My audition, if you will. We were coming to town, and she was going to be around. If we hit it off again, I’d take her to the next home game.

I’d reserved a room long before she offered to let us stay with her, so I still had my backup plan. But it was time to force the issue. I wanted to bring her something for letting us crash at her place, so I asked her what kind of wine she liked. Then, it happened:

“Ha! I have bad news about this weekend. My beau is coming in town this weekend with his dog and I don’t think I’ll be able to have u stay here. I forgot he was coming in.”

Motherfucker.

It seems she met someone over the last month or so. I get it, it’s cool. I wasn’t emotionally invested or anything like that. More than anything, what irritated me was that I ALMOST canceled my hotel room. Just fucking man up and tell me you met some dude! I don’t care! Best of luck to you. When it doesn’t work out, you hit me up down the road. Trust me—I ain’t goin’ anywhere.

Just let me know that there’s no room at the inn. Don’t make me ask. It’s not very attractive.

[Yeah, it's me. I wrote an entry at OD a few weeks ago, but didn't go bold on your bookmarks page. Go check it out.]