The bus comes to a slow stop as I give her an awkward hug and a peck on the cheek. “I’ll call you,” I say, just before she boards the number 42…
… It’s been five days now. I haven’t called, not even a text. It’s kind of immature really, but I think I’m justified somehow, that I can do better.
Not that there’s anything terribly wrong with her, though she is quite plain. However, I do like her scuttling around the bedroom in her pink cotton panties. So there are perks, as shallow as they may be.
The issue arises in conversation, or lack thereof. We have nothing. She’s just an average shy girl. There’s no spunk, no sexy attitude, no light banter. It makes me feel like a scumbag, a hypocrite even, when I reject the same type of person I was just six years ago.
This is the conundrum of self improvement – options.