I should explain this a little more before you answer that question.
Once upon a time there was this boy (there's always a boy in these type of stories) and this boy... well, more a man really... anyway... this man told me that he liked my legs. I was very flattered that someone had noticed all of my hard work in the gym lately. Seriously... aerobics is so much tougher than just slapping on some lycra and shaking your ass to some cheesy 80's music. It is a 60 minute sweat-fest that leaves you with aching thighs and calves, and a whole lot of respect for Jane Fonda.
So back to the main story here... the man and I began flirting with each other. Just think of it as a grown up, technologically advanced version of the good parts of Dawson's Creek... all witty one liners, big words, and teasing one-up-manship (I know it's not a word) through texts and emails, and lots of spotting each other at events and watching from the other side of the room... all sultry gazes and the like... serious mental foreplay stuff. (For some totally unrelated but entertaining Creek bashing just click here)
The crux of the story though... he's shy... and I'm shy... what a dire combination. So I took the grown up's choice and hid behind technology for a while, hoping that this man friend would grow a pair and ask me out. No such luck though... but plenty more texts, mails and looks. Plenty! Loads of them! Enough to torture a young woman. Enough for her to take matters into her own, slightly shaking hands, and ask this man out... gulp... and he said 'Sure'... cue a little dance about my bedroom and a congratulatory pat on the back for being a modern woman and asking a man out.
So I suggested a time and a place... forgetting that he works on that particular evening... and he let me know that he can't make that night, so I suggest a Sunday evening. No one really works on a Sunday evening. They might call to visit their grandparents, wash the dog, go to mass. Regular Sunday stuff that leaves you with a long evening stretched in front of you and nothing to occupy it, except some bad television. I reckoned I was safe with this suggestion. I reckoned I was a better option than bad television. And his response? 'Probably, I'll let you know'... hmmm. It didn't sound good. Not at all.
It wasn't. That Sunday evening has come, and gone. I didn't actually get stood up because I never went to meet him. Because he never 'let me know'. In fact I haven't heard from him since that message. Sigh.
Is this classified as being stood up? I'm a little unsure here. I really don't want to be known as 'that woman who asked a guy out and got stood up'. It's hard enough being a grown up these days without the stigma of being 'that' woman. Oh... and I'm really sick of all the magazine articles that tell me that it's so hot for a woman to ask a guy out. That all men secretly want to be approached by a woman. That it's a turn on. That it's strong, and powerful and empowering... bull... it only is if he says yes.
Let this be a warning to all of you single women out there... do not be the bigger person... tease and torture any man that proclaims to like you... until they cannot help themselves and have to ask you out first... use all of your womanly charms and terrorise him... save yourself the confusion... damn the man