Checked shirt guy

One overly hot, sticky March evening I found myself amidst a small gathering of fellow British folks. We had congregated in a colleagues apartment in the vain hope that the AC and chilled beverages would serve to cool our restless souls as another work week passed almost timelessly.

Much to my horror I discovered that of all the people crammed into this apartment, there were two single people. And yup I was one of them.
Had I unintentionally stumbled upon a couples only date night? I looked around the room wondering if they were wondering why I was here. “She can’t be here, ITS COUPLES NIGHT!”

A few hours later I didn’t even notice the couples arguing over flower arrangements and china teacup patterns. I was making small talk with the only other person in the room who had also recently received the ‘plenty of fish in the sea’ speech.

But sadly there was no connection. We had two things in common:
1. We were both single and
2. We were both human.
Not exactly the material of a great love story but he took my number at the end of the night.

So unremarkable was our conversation, that the next day when we sent me a message I couldn’t even remember his name. So I saved him as checked shirt guy (because I am 50% certain that the shirt he donned that night had been checked.)(The other 50% thinks it was ow, polka dot but I totally would have remembered that, right?)

Out of politeness I text back but mentally I had already put him in the discard pile.

His personality certainly hadn’t been memorable but maybe he had other means of being memorable that I hadn’t quite experienced yet. I took him out of the discard pile and made room for him in the benefits pile.

Why had I been taking baby steps into singleton when I should have been leaping? I was slowly learning how to be single and it was going to be a steep learning curve.

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