Unmoral Compasses

It was Monday afternoon and I had not heard from Adam since Friday morning. But I had jumped and decided not to worry about it. I had faith in... something. Yes, I had faith in myself. Barring a few incidents where I wandered into the kitchen to stare at my alcohol supply, Adam hadn't stolen many of my thoughts.

"I get the feeling that he's disappearing," said N over lunch.

"Yeah, me too. I don't think I did anything wrong though." I grabbed another piece of bread from the basket between us and picked off the seeds. "I think something else is occupying his mind. It may be another girl; it may not be."

"Well if he doesn't contact you today, e-mail him in the morning and make sure you're still on for Tuesday."

"That sounds fair."

I like going to N with relationship advice. She thinks like I do. Best of all, she has the same moral compass as me-- the unmoral kind.

"And remember, if you don't think things are going to work out," she advises, "go ahead and sleep with him. That way you'll at least get your jollies."

Yes, I definitely like the way N thinks.

Just when N and I decided to employ Operation Treat Him Mean and Keep Him Keen, Adam sent me an e-mail. When I should have been happy to hear from him, I was a bit disappointed. It was too informational and not flirty. "It doesn't earn a response," I hollered over my cubicle wall at N.

Four hours and a half a bottle of wine later, I sat in front of my monitor at home and studied the e-mail for the 10th time. I looked for hidden messages, either good or bad, but of course there were none veiled behind such lines as "How was your weekend?"

I hit reply and simply wrote, "Why don't you give me a call after class and I'll tell you about it?" I emptied the wine glass in my mouth and hit send and walked away.

By the time Adam called, the wine bottle was almost empty, my legs were freshly shaven (not the best idea combining the two activities but I escaped unharmed), and I was wearing my pjs that made my ass look fantastic.

"Where are you?" I asked.

"On my couch."

"Let's hang out."

"Ok, come on over."

And I got my jollies.