Tatiana Talks

Why Didn't He Call?

Show of hands: Growing up, who asked their
 parents for this phone? Keep 'em up if you got it.
Guys. I think I’ve been pretty helpful over the past couple of weeks – show of hands, how many of you took my advice about Valentine’s Day.  All four of you? That’s what I thought. So, now I’m going to ask you to help me solve one of the great riddles that has perplexed women since Alexander Graham Bell first asked Mr. Watson, “Can you hear me now?”

Why do you ask for our phone numbers and then never call?

Now, because this is something I have been researching extensively for the past 20 years or so, I will tell you, I understand in some instances it is a play to get in the panties. You’re out, you’re talking to a woman you wanna bang and in an effort to close the deal, you ask for her phone number, hoping she will take this to mean you aren’t just looking for sex and will take you home to make the beast with two backs.

And for every time that has worked for you, I say well-played, sir.


However, why ask for the phone number the next morning? Is it to spare her feelings? To make her feel less cheap? What about weeks later, when you happen to bump into her but haven’t seen or heard from her since the night and everything seems okay? Why ask then?

I’m asking for a friend.

Okay. I’m asking for me.

As predicted, I ran into Miller Lite (the dude I closed the book on 2012 with) recently. Now, before that moment, I barely attempted to cyberstalk him, I didn’t call or email our mutual friends to fish for details about him, nor did I attempt to gain an invite (or crash) any happy hours they planned. After all, it was a one-night stand and I was fine with that.

The moment the bump-in happened, I was perfectly content doing the polite thing and pretending I didn’t even know who he was. But then he initiated contact. We laughed about the awkwardness and how funny it was we hadn’t run into each other sooner and just as I was ready to walk away, glad the initial meeting was over, he asked for my number.

You know, so we could maybe get a drink some time.

And then, he. Never. Called.

Sure, I’m not looking for a relationship, nor do I want one. But I can’t help that I’m a girl. And so, yes. I obsessively checked my phone for the week that followed. Friday morning, I shaved my legs and wore an extra-cute outfit  just in case a last minute happy hour invitation arrived.

But it never did. So what the hell is the point of getting my number in the first place? Seriously. I’m asking.