Better Days to Come


Remember how excited I was about the date? Yeah, I shouldn’t have been. No, it wasn’t a bad date. It wasn’t an any kind of date. You see, it takes two people to have a date. One person didn’t show up. And the no-show wasn’t me.

Yeah, I got stood up.

On the same night I was accused by an ex-friend1 of being full of myself,23 I got stood up. I knew from friends and pop culture that it was painful, but I didn’t realize just how bad it actually felt. I was humiliated. I felt like everyone around me could tell what was happening. I felt like every bad thing I’d ever been told about myself and every bad thing that I’ve ever felt about myself was true. And I felt ridiculous for feeling that way. This wasn’t some guy that I had secretly pined after. It wasn’t someone I knew or who knew me. It was just some random guy. Sure, he is one of the few guys who has ever told me that I’m attractive, which boosted my self-esteem, but I don’t know him. So it felt silly to be sad over him not showing up.

I was still sad, though.

And pissed.

And I felt like it was my fault that he didn’t show up. Maybe I was too forward asking him out. Maybe he decided that I wasn’t smart enough for him. Maybe he decided I wasn’t pretty enough for him. Or maybe he got to the mall and saw me and left. I kept putting all of the blame on me, but I know that it isn’t really my fault. I showed up. I had some doubts after we agreed on the date, but I showed up. I didn’t know if there was enough between us to matter, but I showed up. I didn’t know if I saw him in person if I would still feel attracted to him, but I showed up. I showed up and he didn’t, so I should blame him.

On a cognitive level, I do.

On an emotional one, I don’t.

I didn’t binge after it happened, and I could have. I definitely could have since the meeting was to take place in the food court of the mall. The food court has a Ben & Jerry’s. I considered going to town on that. I didn’t want to mess with my lactose intolerance, though.4 But I did consider it. I also considered never eating again.5

I didn’t self-injure afterward, and I could have. I won’t say that I didn’t think about it because I did.

I texted, watched some television, took a shower, laughed at things posted on Twitter and Tumblr,6 argued with the ex-friend on Twitter and Facebook,7 and cried.8 I cried until my face burned. I cried until my eyes hurt. I cried and I silently screamed for minutes. And then I went back to my life and tried to move past it.

It sucks to be stood up, but I guess that’s part of dating and part of life. I would just advise people who date that calling to let someone know that you’re not coming is a lot nicer than just leaving them high and dry. I would have felt better knowing that he wasn’t interested than I did in just sitting there feeling like I was defective and ugly and would be alone forever.9 So, I know that if I ever have to bail on someone, I would definitely try to get a hold of them so that they wouldn’t go through that.

But I’m trying not to let this experience keep me from going out more. Hopefully, it won’t. Maybe I should take a little advice from Yoda on this. “Do… or do not. There is no try.”1011


  1. She wasn’t an ex-friend until she decided to out herself as homophobic. 

  2. Because people who have low self-esteem are always full of themselves. 

  3. Also, she called me a “know-it-all”. I’m not a know-it-all. I’m a pedantic and a literalist, but I’m not a know-it-all. There is a difference. Considering that I also have OCD, it makes sense that I would have those issues. 

  4. Don’t wake that sleeping beast unless it’s absolutely necessary. 

  5. I’ve started thinking about that more lately. 

  6. On Tumblr, there was a big discussion of Jesus participating in threesomes. This carried over to Twitter, where I mentioned that there should be a list of the most fuckable portrayals of Jesus. 

  7. Somehow she doesn’t seem to realize that wanting separate levels of civil rights for certain groups = being a bigot. Someone apparently hasn’t learned much about the history of civil rights and oppression, aka the history of the fucking world. 

  8. I cried over the being stood up, not the shitty friend or the lack of fuckable Jesuses in my life. 

  9. When you start pondering what breed of cat to start a crazy cat lady collection with, you know you’ve hit a pretty low spot in your self-esteem. 

  10. Meditate on this I will. 

  11. Much to learn, you still have. 


About Janet Morris

I'm from Huntsville, Alabama. I've got as many college credits as a doctorate candidate, and the GPA of some of them, too. I have a boss by the name of Amy Pond. She's a dachshund. My parents both grew up in Alabama.