I was going to publish this post last week, but I didn’t. Instead I wrote about kindness; however, I was not treated kindly or respectfully in return. And I’m in no mood to be generous. So screw it: published it now is.

Regular readers will know that I’ve been having an “interesting” time over the last few months, romantically speaking. Of course, the phrase “romantically speaking” assumes that romance is involved, which it isn’t, although I thought there might have been. But there wasn’t. All I got was a Big Fat Head Fuck.

Let me recap for new readers. Last year, I got myself involved in some Christmas shenanigans. Clearly learning nothing from this episode, and at the same time ignoring one of my very own Golden Rules i.e. Never Get Bitten By The Same Dog Twice, I got myself involved in post-Christmas shenanigans of the plot twist variety. Foolishly. Stupidly. Who ignores their own rules? (Me, apparently.)

Why? Who knows? Despite my hard-nosed approach, I am a big softie and I want to think that just once – once! – I’m wrong (or is that right?) about someone. (Call it a faux emotional investment and sunk cost fallacy, but I do tend to give people I’ve slept with more than one chance to prove themselves. For a smart girl, I can be pretty dopey. Which is why I’ve made a pact with myself.) But my irrational brain keeps supposing: surely, it’s not too much to ask? I want the fairy tale ending, even though I know fairy tale endings belong in fairy tales, of which my life – as fascinating as it is, with all its eclectic characters and plot twists and intricate mysteries and page turning narratives – is not one. Thanks for nothing, Fairy Godmother that is my irrational brain!

Back to the Big Fat Head Fuck. It came in the form of e-maintenance*. This week, I found myself in the confusing and frustrating and maddening situation of being e-maintained by Mr Christmas Shenanigans. I guess he was experiencing his own version of sunk cost fallacy. Or maybe I’m being too kind.

For readers who have never experienced the joys of being e-maintained by a potential romantic partner, it consists of receiving texts (or emails or Facebook/Twitter DMs or similar) which look like The Object of One’s Affections (TOoOA) is interested in you. These texts are vacuous and vague and sporadic, but are consistent enough and have sufficient “promises of future” that they seem genuine, particularly if they involve some face and/or fuck time at some point.  These communications (and I use that term loosely) are, for all intents and purposes, romantic link bait.

It is only when you pin TOoOA down to a specific time and day for said catch-up that true intentions are revealed. Crickets. Tumbleweeds. More crickets. His (or her) true intentions are that you are really nothing more than an option who TOoOA is sorta, kinda, but not really interested in. He (or she) is hedging his (or her) bets, making sure that if nothing better comes up, he (or she) has his (or her) bases covered. He (or she) may want to start something with you at some point, but they may not. It is emotional manipulation of the lowest kind. Dear reader: you have been duped. Drum roll. Choir of angels singing. Another drum roll. You have yourself an epiphany.

So how do you respond to said duping? You call them out. With something like this:

Damn, that felt good.

(And yes, he did call.)

* e-maintenance has increased and proliferated with the ubiquity of smart phones and social media. People have become lazy. Take my advice and if you give out your number, make sure he or she knows that you are old school and don’t do texting, but you do do calling. That’ll sort ’em out.