I'm reading another thread, a woman is dissecting her four-hour date with such maniacal detail, as if it were a black box from a plane that crashed somewhere over the Atlantic. It seems, if she were allowed to, she would hire detectives to recreate the trajectory of each glass on the table, informs Ukr.Media.
Given: he drove 120 kilometers one way. Somewhere in Germany. They met in a coffee shop. At first he was reserved, then he seemed to relax, and started to accidentally touch her elbow. He took two white wines, although, as our heroine carefully noted, he usually drinks red. Then – a brisk walk along the embankment. Six kilometers per hour. I can just imagine this pace. This is not flirting or a romantic walk, this is preparation for passing the standards. He walks next to or slightly behind, no longer touching. The conversation is not exactly sparking, there is a heavy silence periodically.
But my favorite act of this drama takes place at the second bar. They order appetizers. He takes the same cocktail as hers (although he is an athlete and a serious PhD in general). Then he dramatically declares that he is still behind the wheel, so he will continue to drink Coke. He does not take the Coke. Instead, he periodically sips her second cocktail from the other side of the glass.
The forum, of course, is buzzing. What was that? Why was he drinking her drink? Is this some kind of pick-up line to get closer? A border check? Or just plain snobbery?
The ending is painfully classic. She walks him to the parking lot, because, you see, he doesn't know the city. They hugged, parted ways. The next day she writes: thank you, it was great. He politely replies: thank you too, I hope you went for a bike ride (oh, he remembered a detail from the conversation, let's put a plus in the notebook!). And then she plays him a Queen song, which is supposedly associated with him, and… silence. Ignore.
And here begins what we have gathered a council of friends in the kitchen for at least once in our lives. Anatomy of failure. “He didn't like me on the outside? What was the fatal moment? Why couldn't he just write that there was no spark? He's an adult, studying mental health, looking for a wife!”
I look at this hysteria in the comments, where women with proletarian directness write to her: “You’re just suffocating,” and I think about how delicately we know how to drive ourselves into this trap. We come up with a background for a man, give him depth just because he mentioned neurobiology, is 190 centimeters tall, and knows how to put words into sentences. We are ready to rationalize anything. Got behind the wheel drunk? Well, sometimes he relaxed. Didn’t see me home? Well, he was tired from the trip. Didn’t show initiative? I guess I was too closed off, didn’t give the signal.
We are willing to take the blame, dissect our own appearance, intonations, and the appropriateness of a Queen song, just to avoid facing the most boring truth of modern communication.
But the truth is, sometimes a person drives 120 kilometers just because they were bored at home. Sometimes a man drinks your cocktail just because he wants to take a sip, but doesn't want to buy a whole glass. And he's silent afterwards not because he's struggling with deep feelings, scared of your incredible energy, or going through a crisis.
He's silent because he's already opened the app and is scrolling through someone else's profiles, with a location fifty kilometers closer and no complicated conversations after the first date. And no matter how many hours we spend deciphering that same touch on the elbow, the lack of an answer is the most comprehensive answer.
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⚡ Readers' Pulse
Is this maneuver of sipping a cocktail from someone else's glass a subtle trick or just a symptom of thuggery?
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😏 Subtle intimate game 💸 Pure-blooded scoundrel 🤡 I have my own drama
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😏 Subtle intimate game 0% 💸 Pure-blooded scoundrel 0% 🤡 I have my own drama 100% 💡
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