And so the cycle continues... disappointment follows hope. The hope was barely a glimmer and the disappointment barely a sigh, and in the grand scheme of my entire life, this moment will be forgotten.
But while I'm in it, it sucks.
It's such a small thing. Just a broken date. And probably just postponed. He even gave me a day's notice, as opposed to other maniacs who just left me all dressed up with no place to go.
Honestly, I've had worse disappointments; like when all of the clothes in my closet shrunk, and when I suffered a wax that no one saw but my gynecologist.
But why is it that when men disappoint, it just feels different?
It's not a broken heart, just a broken date. But nonetheless, another reinforcement of the cycle of hope and disappointment that taunts me, that threatens my equilibrium.
A few months ago, this setback would have sent me into a menage a trois with Ben and Jerry. Today I am thinking that I still might make it to the gym.
Good for me.