We've been hanging out for a few weeks. You take me to dinner. I buy your drinks. We make out--in public even!--but you are soooo not my boyfriend. We are in the no man's land between hanging out casually and being in a full-on relationship; it's too early to have the DTR conversation and too late not to be a little attached. For this, I hate you. It's not a rage-y hate either, just a slow-burning resentment because, hello, you should ALREADY know you like me already.
I wish we could just skip over this soupy middle part where maybe you like me and maybe I like you, and get to the good stuff: an actual, non-stressful relationship where we hit it all the time. Let's skip the Double Jeopardy round and get to Final Jeopardy, okay?
But that's so not how this is going to go down. Instead, I will meticulously measure out my correspondence with you, careful to balance between aloofness and total infatuation. I'll make myself busy scheduling back-to-back happy hours with my buds to not appear too available. Hell, I'll even date other dudes in a concerted effort to not put my dating eggs in one dating basket (your lovely, radical, dating basket).
I'm like Johnny Cash over here walkin' the line. Damn you for doing this to me! On the plus side, with all this mental energy you're making me expend on the issue, I suppose I can now add tightrope walker to my resume now. That's something, right?