If you drank and drank and drank with Bad Idea at the bar; and he was suggesting tropical drinks, and random ridiculous drinks, because it was feeling like That Kind of Night; and Bad Idea–like he always does–was leaning in too close, and trying too hard to get drunk too fast with you, and letting random arms and legs lay on parts of your body for just a little too long; and Bad Idea pushed the drinking farther and farther, until the very end of the night, despite being sleepy and having to get up super early tomorrow morning; and then you said you were leaving, and he left too, and asked if you could share a cab; and then, in the cab, he said, so you wanna drive to San Francisco with me tonight? And you said, yeah, but I never end up getting anywhere with you….

And he said, Wow, are you still working on me?…Since day one? Wow. That’s very flattering.

Because, oh my god, was I somehow not being clear about this? Was I somehow hiding my flirtations with and lust for Bad Idea? The ones THE WHOLE FUCKING BLOGOSPHERE KNOWS ABOUT????

And at that point, I think I maybe gave up. A little bit, at least. Because why is this still something I’m working on? Why isn’t this, yet, something he’s working on?

So the cab dropped him off at his house, and he hugged me and said, San Francisco next time? And I said, um, whatever.

No. I didn’t. I said, Okay. Next time.

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