It’s been three days. I’m not the kind of guy who gives in easily. Betty isn’t a push over by any means and she doesn’t give in until she’s ready also. But three days is a long time even for her. I checked my phone. No calls, no texts. I looked closer at the number that I had been calling and texting. Something didn’t seem quite right.
On the night that I met Betty she wrote her number on a napkin and kissed it leaving a red lipstick mark behind. I kept the napkin and decided to find it. Just to look at it and reminisce about her. To recall her handwriting. The napkin was safely tucked away in my sock drawer like a cherished keepsake.
I remembered being magnetized by her smile and the look in her eyes as she handed me her phone number. Everything about this woman guaranteed that I was going to call her. The way she signed her name was as if she had given me an autograph. The name of the restaurant where we met was inscribed on the napkin in a fancy black script font. As if I were holding a relic, I felt like I was transported back to the day that we met. I could see everything vividly. Her hair, the colorful dress that she was wearing. Strangely, I remembered how I felt. Was this love at first sight?
I glanced again at the ten digits that Betty wrote down. There’s something different about the numbers. I grabbed my phone to compare the two numbers. My stomach dropped. I had been calling and texting the wrong number these past three days. I even left voicemail messages. I have officially lost my mind, embarrassed myself, and lost all of the cool points I’ve ever owned.
Well at least that explains why she hadn’t responded.