It's Over. I Think.

"Hi, Lea," he opened nervously. 

I was befuddled. We had already gone out twice; I wasn't particularly excited, nor could I detect any true interest on his side. Yet he seemed to be half-heartedly persisting, much to my annoyance. 

He was talking. Actually, it was more like "mumble mumble mumble." I couldn't understand what he had said, and remained silent, thinking he would continue and I would be able to eventually comprehend his unintelligible vocalizations, based on context. Yet all I heard next was a hurried "G'night" and a distinct click. 

I padded into my parents' room, both breathless with anticipation. 

"I think he 'broke up' with me." 

"You think?" 

"Yeah. There was a 'mumble mumble mumble,' 'G'night,' and a 'click.'" 

"What?" 

We pondered the matter. 

"I think one of the words sounded like 'out,' as in 'It's not going to work out,'" I said in dawning comprehension.

"Are you sure it wasn't 'When do you want to go out?'" Ta asked hopefully. 

"And then he hung up?" 

I was annoyed because this whole rigamarole could have been avoided with a simple text earlier in the week, right after we had last gone out five days ago. I don't know who came up with this mishagaas that verbal communication is needed to break up with someone after a couple of dates—I'll always, happily, ecstatically, prefer the written word! Email, text, messenger pigeon—I embrace them all! This was no grand romance, there was no understanding, there were two anemic outings.

This poor fellow felt that the only "acceptable" way to end an acquaintance is to be so strangled with fear that the message wouldn't even be explicitly delivered?

If only he knew that at the other end of the line was a nonconfrontationalist of the highest caliber, who would endure the most unending of abuses rather than do what he just did. 

With a text, I could ensure I would be clearly understood. Poor boy.