A coworker of mine is single. Let’s call him Fred. One day, Fred mentioned that he was going on a date. For whatever reason, I passed this tidbit on to Pam.

Later, Pam asked me how Fred’s date went.
“I don’t know.”
“Why not?”
“I didn’t ask.”

A couple of days later I asked Fred about his date.
“I thought it went well. We seemed to get along. There were no awkward silences or anything. But when I asked if I could call her again, she said that I should text her instead. I texted her but she never responded. I stopped trying because I don’t want to be creepy.”
“I really liked her and wanted to spend more time with her. I’m pretty broken up about this.”
I didn’t know what to say to this and started putting my foot in my mouth about how I’m glad I’m not dating. I felt really awkward.

This reminds me of a scene in “A Fish Called Wanda” where John Cleese’s character says that the English are afraid to ask about the wife and kids in case it turns out that the wife killed the kids and herself in a homicidal/suicidal rage. Or something like that.

I’m not sure if this just applies to the English or men in general. It does apply to me.

This is why I don’t ask how dates went.



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