Megan Stielstra's Blog

I just tried to call my friend Kimberlee and I dialed the wrong number. I got some unknown girl's voicemail, hung up and dialed correctly. But now, an hour or so later, I feel bad. I'm wondering, have I contributed to this girl's nuerosis? Let's say last night she was out and she met some guy, the perfect guy, and they had the perfect first conversation and the perfect meaningful gaze and he asked for her number in a perfectly casual yet intimate way and she went home thinking, yes, yes, this is it. She'd been out late so naturally she'll sleep in, and later will look at her phone and see she's missed a call. From a foreign number. At eight forty-five on a Friday morning and--this is the clincher--THERE IS NO MESSAGE! At once, the panic begins, that panic that single girls are so adept at. Did he call? Why didn't he leave a message? Why is he calling at seven forty-five? Seven forty-five is not a sexy time to call! And shouldn't he have waited longer? Like, I know I always say I want them to call right away and not wait eight days like those asshole guys in the Vince Vaughn movie, and whenever they do call after eight days I'm always like, "FUCK you, waiting eight days to call ME!" but waiting five hours and forty-five minutes does seem a bit desperate, don't you think? Is this guy desperate? I don't want any DESPERATE guys, I want nice, together, calm guys who've been waititing for the PERFECT girl, not just SOME girl! Does this guy have a life, or what? Does he have a JOB? I don't want to date another guy without a job, that BLOWS 'cause we can't ever go anywhere or do anything and if I have to have another PBR on some dude's couch watching his well-worn Spinal Tap tape I'm going to like, die! And what happens next is by the time the perfect guy from the night before finally calls at a respectable one and a half days later to ask her out to dinner and a show (dinner and a SHOW! When was the last time she had a dinner-and-a-SHOW date?) she's already got it all worked out in her head that he's a deadbeat, lazy-ass, pathetic no account who calls at seven forty-five when maybe he's still drunk or some other such insanity and I, singlehandedly, have ruined the potential happiness of two hypothetically wonderful people, all with my carelessness in hitting a six when I should have hit a seven.