“Abby, look, I always made it clear I wasn’t looking for a relationship,” The Coworker muttered.

“What?” I asked, confused.  “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Well, I’m just saying, you get all worked up over things…”

“Damon, let’s take a step back,” I said.  “And count the many ways in which I’m way smarter than you and marvel at the ease in which you back yourself into a corner.”

There was a moment of silence on the other end of the phone as he took it all in.  I wasn’t sure how we got on the topic of his lack of desire to commit to a relationship, but I wasn’t going to let him off the hook that easy, not that time.

“What are you talking about?” The Coworker asked, annoyed.

“Well, as much as I do love debating these issues with you,” I said, sarcastically, “your argument is pretty weak.”

“How so? I always told you that.”

“Damon, I was angry with you because once again, I wasted my Sunday waiting on you to let me know what was up.  At some point during the day, you obviously made a decision as to how your night would be spent, and the root issue here is that you never bothered to convey that decision to me.”

“My night got carried away, what can I say?” he muttered, stumbling for words.

“Whatever dude,” I quipped angrily. “I’m getting tired of waiting for you to grow up and stop hiding behind your little shield of ‘not wanting a relationship’.  We’re talking basic interpersonal skills here.”

I hung up the phone without another word – not angrily, but I had just grown so tired of having the same conversation over and over again each time this happened.  I had gone as far, in the past, as to insinuate that this thing we had was simply a glorified booty call for both of us, to which he passionately feigned offense, outraged that I could hold him in such low regard.  Arguing with him was worse than going through the wrong door and ending up on the Rotor, that spinning-floor-dropping-stick-you-to-the-wall amusement park ride.  All I was left with usually was a sense of dizziness and nausea.

Just as I went to put the phone down, it rang again.  Without checking the caller ID, I angrily answered.

“Damon, listen, I’m not doing this now,” I yelled.

“Huh?”

“What?”

“Abby?”

“David?” I asked, horrified.  “Holy shit, I’m so sorry! I thought you were someone else!”

“Wow,” he laughed. “I’m glad I’m not that guy!  Who’s Damon?”

“Oh, no one…it’s nothing.”

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