Better Never Than Late

A few years ago, I think about late-ish 2012-ish, I had been with the ex for a few months. Maybe 6. [I’m obviously not clear on these details, but they aren’t pertinent to this story.] I was a heavy Twitter user, and interacted with numerous people on there. I had met quite a few of them too, in Goa and in Mumbai, when I visited. I had rose-coloured glasses with respect to these people, because my experiences of meeting them had been great till that point.

One of the guys off there sent me a DM, saying he would be in Goa and would love to meet up. I gave him my Whatsapp number, and said to ping me when he was in town. On reaching Goa, he did ping me, asking me out to dinner. I was a little nervous about broaching the subject [because really when is a good time to bring up you aren’t single?], but I said that we would be happy to join him for dinner any evening he was free.

Of course the reply was pat: “Who is ‘we’?” “My fiancé and I,” I replied equally promptly.

Radio silence.

Three days later, he pinged me again: “Oh I got late that day, and I guess I am late overall too. Lol.”

Hm. I was less than pleased and severely uncomfortably. I hadn’t given him any reason to presume that our acquaintance was anything more than mildly platonic, borderline nodding. Why would he assume I was single anyway? The upshot of all this consternation was that I blocked him on WhatsApp and stopped responding to him on Twitter. Good riddance.

A few times after that, he sent me a few messages on Twitter again. Since time has served its signal purpose in dulling my sense of outrage, I responded. [I know. I am glutton for punishment.] He asked if I was still engaged. I blocked him outright.

Many years have passed in between, and honestly I forgot all about this specimen. Until last week that is: I got a friend request from him on Facebook.



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