Ghosting: The Story of The Nice Guy

This one’s on me.

I am absolutely the villain in this story.  The character you want to root for is The Nice Guy.

I went on three dates with The Nice Guy.  On the first date, we met for coffee.  We had easy conversation, he laughed at my jokes, and seemed genuinely interested in what I had to say.  When it was getting close to when I had to leave, he asked me when I was free again and if I’d like to go out again.  He walked me to my car and he didn’t kiss me.

For our second date we hung out and watched movies.  I went to his apartment.  When I got there, he came outside to meet me at my car.  We passed a few other residents and he was just so friendly to all of them.  In the elevator he struck up a conversation with an older woman.  Their rapport was so effortless I assumed they knew each other.  As the woman exited the elevator, she told The Nice Guy that it was nice to meet him.  Again before I left he asked to see me again.

On our third date we met at his apartment and he took me out to eat.  He wouldn’t let me pay for the food.  Again I was struck by how nice he was to everyone.  I guess basic human decency shouldn’t really shock me at the level that it does sometimes.  Clearly nice is not a quality to which I am accustomed.

The thing about The Nice Guy is that on paper he was amazing.  He’s attractive, he’s kind, he has a sense of humour.  He knew that I had two young children and it didn’t bother him at all.  He obviously liked me and he liked spending time with me.  And so of course, I felt absolutely nothing.

After three dates I still felt nothing.  We made out a few times and I really tried to like him.  He seemed like everything I wanted in a guy.  But you can’t force chemistry, I suppose.  And this is fine.  It’s okay to not be attracted to someone.  Just because your parts can fit together doesn’t mean that they should.  This is life.

The problem is how I dealt with the fact that I felt nothing.  I ghosted The Nice Guy.  One day I just stopped texting back.  I gave him no warning, no explanation, nothing.  I just ceased contact. He texted me every few days for the next couple of weeks, and I ignored them all.  At some point I did have some humanity and felt badly about it, but I figured that it was too late to do anything about it and so I just kept ignoring him.

The thing about ghosting is that it is so easy.  It’s hard to have a break up conversation with someone, even if you aren’t really dating.  It’s hard to tell someone that you don’t want to see them anymore.  It’s hard to hurt someone.  But it’s fucking necessary.

I learned this a few months later when I myself was ghosted.  It sucked.  It was someone that I really liked and they just stopped texting me.  It would have been so much easier to get over them if they had just sent me a simple text saying that they weren’t feeling it.  It sucked and it hurt but I totally got the irony.  I absolutely deserved being ghosted after what I did to The Nice Guy.

To The Nice Guy…I’m sorry, man.  I was a complete asshole.  I hate what I did.  I know it was only three dates but everyone deserves a conversation.  It would have taken thirty seconds out of my day to send you a text saying that I didn’t want to see you anymore.  It would have hurt you, yes, which is something that I did not want to do.  But it would have hurt a hell of a lot less than what I did.  So…I’m sorry.



Regret Scoring: 10/10

To all of you reading, don’t be twats.  If you’re not feeling it, you’re not feeling it.  That’s okay! Don’t try to force something that isn’t there.  But grow up and be an adult about it, please.  Hurting someone is hard but it’s life.  People get hurt.  But people move on, too.  And they move on a lot faster if you’re not such an asshole about it.  I 100% regret what I did to The Nice Guy.  If I could take it back, I would in a heartbeat.  But as with all experiences in life, there is a lesson to be learned and I have learned it.  No matter how much I hate hurting someone, it is so much better to rip off the band-aid than to keep salting the wound.  Treat others how you would want to be treated.  Put yourself in their shoes.  Whatever overplayed cliché you want to use.  Just don’t be a fucking idiot.



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