Nine
Forty minutes later, we’re back home. Adam goes to get ready for his date, and I sit down at the kitchen table, ready to solve more Ladditude problems and trying not to think about my imminent departure.
I open my mailbox and start scrolling through today’s issues, deciding what to respond to publicly. Cheating, problems with the in-laws, erectile dysfunction, problems with the boss, flatmate problems, and money problems. All the usual. Then, I spot a response to my response. Beaming, I go to open it. It’s not often that I get a thank you note for rebooting someone’s life, thanks to my wise words. Not that I’m in it for the gratitude. But an outpouring of thanks is a nice top-up on the meagre writers’ fee.
Except it’s not thanks, by any definition.
It’s that Ryan guy, who asked for advice about the girl he liked at work.
Alex (No Dear Alex, I immediately notice),
I took your advice about the girl I work with and went for lunch with her. So far, so good. Except that, when the bill came, I tried to pay. She seemed reluctant, but armed with your confidence mantra, I pushed forward and insisted. I see in hindsight just how uncomfortable she was, but in the moment, I saw it as shyness, and I persevered. Then, based on your advice, I tried to “take control.” I told her I liked her and asked her out. I have never seen anyone look so ambushed before. She talked about how she thought it was just a catch-up lunch between colleagues and couldn’t understand how I’d read things so wrong. Then she practically ran out of the café. I’m pretty sure she’s told multiple people at work already because of all the looks I’m getting and the giggling when I walk by. Sorry if this is ranty, but I’m so humiliated I think my confidence has lurched to zero… Appreciate it’s pretty much on me – but wanted to let you know: sometimes things aren’t as clear cut as your confident advice suggests.
Ryan
Arg. I can feel my scalp prickle in sympathy sweat. I feel awful. I know it wasn’t my own advice – bloody Adam – but it was my responsibility. And Ryan thinks it was me. I’m the Agony Uncle. This is a disaster – I’m an amateur who’s actually harming now.
Adam strolls out of his room in his pulling gear, whistling as if he and I hadn’t been handing out deep complexes to the young men of London like they’re sweets. I read Ryan’s message out to him. I don’t know what I’m expecting, but not the complete nonchalance and shrugged shoulders that I get. “So? He’s just one person. And he says himself it’s all on him – what was he expecting?”
“But…”
“Not every woman is gonna like you. He’ll get over it. I wouldn’t respond.” With that, he strides through the door, off to meet the unlucky Jessica.
So much for support from my fellow saboteur.
I quickly start drafting a response to Ryan.
Dear Ryan,
I am so sorry that happened to you. I genuinely am. It’s never my intention to give my readers bad advice, and I’m mortified that’s happened on this occasion. You sound like a perceptive man. If you liked this person, then I’m guessing she’s pretty decent. I suggest you send this girl an email explaining that you really liked her but misread her signals and that you’re sorry. If she is any sort of reasonable person, she’ll understand, be flattered, and stop gossiping about you. It will get better. People will move on to the next office scandal and forget all about it.
In the meantime, avoid the temptation of pulling away from dating just because of one bad experience. Otherwise, you really will set yourself back. Take another risk. I know you’re from London – what about going to next Saturday night’s Single Mingle in Soho? It’s supposed to be a great night for singles, and lots of people meet good matches there. I’ve done some research, and they say that if you don’t end up with a date out of it they give you free entry to the next one. I remember you said you were shy, and I wonder if this might help boost your confidence and get you used to talking to strangers? If you go, let me know how you get on.
Yours,
Alex
Actually, this Single Mingle thing sounds pretty cool. It’s the sort of thing that Bea and I might buy a ticket for when drunk and then cancel when sober.
I go onto the website and look at the ticket prices again. The seed of a morally questionable idea is starting to form in my mind… What if I went as well, but solely as a mysterious stranger who meets Ryan and builds up his confidence? Would that be so weird? I’d just be another single person in the bar. I could meet him and flirt outrageously, then make my excuses – all having given him the boost to go out there and be himself with the other women. And, of course, if I happen to be swept off my feet by a handsome heart surgeon or a strapping fireman (very different, but in my view, the sexiest of professions), then it’s a win all around. I could even go in disguise and with an enchanting pseudonym! I always loved a bit of improv at university.
I take a breath and click confirm on the ticket purchase, overly cheerful about waving goodbye to another ￡20.
As it happens, Adam saunters in not long after, on cloud nine and slightly drunk after his “most amazing date ever” with Jessica.
“Of course, you should go!” he slurs at me. “Everyone should find the sort of love I’ve found…”
Putting aside my deep desire to mock him for his newfound ridiculousness, I smile instead and determine that I won’t be asking for a refund after all.