Dear Diary,
I haven’t talked to you in a long time. I’d love to say I’ve been busy growing as a person, but mostly I’ve been making the same decisions and getting better at explaining them. Yesterday was Halloween, and I had a spooky experience. For once, I don’t mean opening my dating profiles.
The day started like any other day. Sam and I met in Old Town at our favorite bar for espresso martinis. Two blonde girls came over while we were trying to enjoy our drinks. Naturally. Sam held out for approximately eleven seconds before making out with one of them. It’s hard being us and this good-looking. Somebody has to do it.
We went our separate ways to get ready for the night after a terrible, heartbreaking ASU loss to BYU. I should have known something was wrong then. Instead, I put on the shirt that has historically gotten me into trouble.
Later that night, things were finally looking up. I was making love to a Division One championship soccer player. YES, DIARY, A CHAMPION. Like me, obviously.
Then the door opened.
A ghost walked into the doorway. Stopped. Stared directly at me.
I stopped too. Not ideal timing for either of us.
I knew that look. It was the look someone gives you when you’re halfway through an excuse they’ve already heard.
The GHOST OF RELATIONSHIPS PAST.
Every unanswered text. Every unfinished conversation. Every “I’m just not ready for anything serious” delivered by a man who was somehow always ready for another date. Apparently they’d compared notes.
I usually blame bad luck when dating doesn’t work out. Being silently judged in the middle of this particular evening did make that argument a little harder to sell.
I looked away. When I looked back, it was gone.
Maybe it was someone in a costume, or maybe it was the Ghost of Relationships Past. Either way, I got the message.
P.S. Tyler Weeks is having a kid. I’m so excited. This world is changing so fast, but I don’t know if I’m ready for it.