This past weekend, I had what must qualify as one of my strangest text-message exchanges ever. A replay...
Outgoing: "Hey. It's Jeremy. How are you doing? I'm about to meet up with my friend who is visiting from New York. Just wanted to say hi and see how you are."
Incoming: "Hi. It was nice to meet you last night, and I had a lot of fun, but I'm not looking to start anything as I am only in town for a few days. But you should definitely enjoy this great city."
Is it me, or does the incoming, a direct response to the outgoing, seem to belong to a totally different conversation? The incoming was the text message I sent early on Saturday afternoon to Mattheus, a guy I met on Friday night at Rheo, my favorite new gay hotspot in Buenos Aires. Not only had Mattheus spent a considerable portion of the night wooing me, but once I started to bend to his will, he gave me his phone number as well. We shared a pleasant conversation, a few kisses and nothing more, but judging from his response, which came around 11pm on Saturday night (draw your own conclusions), you'd think I'd proposed marriage.
I get it: He's just not that into me. Or maybe he's only in the market for besos sin vueltas (basically, a one-night stand without the sex). Whatever. Rejection, which doesn't faze me much at this late stage in my dating life, is one thing, but rejection when no real invitation has been made is truly perplexing. Either Mattheus is not accustomed to being treated like a human being by people he meets when he goes out, or as a guy who is truly average in every way (the only head he turned at Rheo was mine, which he physically -- literally! -- had to turn), this is his only available method of propping himself up. If nothing else, Mattheus, who is German, is a bracing reminder that poor social skills is an international shortcoming.