Momemt of Weakness

Last night, after I got home from tennis I was frantic when I realized that the boy of the moment had not responded to my text from 2:40pm--it was an appalling 10:50pm!

In a moment I wish I could erase, I texted my personal Mr. Big: "How you doin'?"
He responded in the requisite 7-minute texting window. I hit the gym. He called, but I missed it.

I stalled some more thanks to this conversation with Tommy:
Tommy: Give me your phone.
Me: No.
Tommy: I need to make a phone call.
Me: No, you don't.
Tommy: You shouldn't text him back.
Me: I know.
Tommy: But you're going to anyway?
Me: Maybe.

Then I texted him back. He responded with a prompt phone call. He was in Boston on business--blitzed on a Monday, singing off-key with his cohorts. I berated him for not growing up. He laughed. I laughed. We're past the drama but that feels strange--so much of what connected us was angst, on my part at least. You can never get too close to a flame that's burned you--at least you shouldn't in theory. But I think that's another theory that's gone the way of Communism...great ideas failing in practice yet the practice continues.

Boy-of-the-moment STILL has not texted back. The window of my patience is quickly closing!