"They Like You. Don't Overthink It."

This post contains lethal doses of sarcasm if read irresponsibly.

@memingintothevoid

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“Hey! I had a fun time last night,” she texts. “Maybe we could hang out again.”

The time in which a man meets a woman and locking down a second, or even third, date with her is tip-toeing a tightrope of conveying genuine interest without coming across as too overeager. I mean, she did giggle at most of my jokes last night. She commented on my bomber jacket. But something seems off and I can’t quite assess what it is.

Why did she say “maybe?” This isn’t some shitty Carly Rae Jespen single, this is real life with real emotional ramifications. Is she trying to be sensitive to my schedule? Is she still deliberating whether she wants to see me again? And why was last night only a “fun time?” I thought it was amazing, or at least, like, a 7.2/10. Dear god, my ability to overanalyze even the slightest minutia is almost creating more anxiety than my endless weed supply can handle.

“So are you being coy with the maybe, or am I getting a second date,” I reply in hopes of some definitive clarification.

Five minutes pass.

Five-and-a-half minutes pass.

Seven minutes and 15 seconds pass. Anxiety is building.

Time slows to a grueling slog. I can’t take it. My heart is pounding. Knees weak. Arms are sweaty. I’m dripping, but, like, in the gross and moist way.

Exactly 10 minutes and 18 seconds pass and she finally sent: “Maybe this isn’t gonna work out.”

She did say maybe, which inversely implies that maybe it can work out.

What if I show up at her apartment with a boombox and chocolates and…

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