“Hey Elly, its Luke from last Saturday. Hows ya nyte going? What are you up to?”

And then

“Any chance ya mite let me take ya out sumtime?”

I half cringe at my phone. Its 1am, and I’m still out, surrounded by friends and family. I take another sip of my (fourth? Fifth?) wine, and I’m grateful he mentioned his name and where I met him. I wouldn’t have remembered, otherwise. I’m not really sure how this part of the dating dance goes, but I’m not interested, hey. Its been a week, and I don’t really remember who you are.

I realise that I should probably stop giving my number out to boys who ask for it. Its just, what are you meant to do, when they are looking at you with puppy dog eyes, and that stupidly charming grin? Say no? It just seems easier to hand it over than to cause a scene. They worked up the courage, and it just seems heartless to say no. Also, there was that one time where I got snapped giving out a wrong number. Fail. Embarrassing on both sides, that one.

I reply with some polite small talk (“Nights going good, just out with some friends.”) No questions that need replying to, nothing that could be considered overly keen. I ignore the second txt. Please just disappear into the night. Please please please.

I really should stop doing this. As I flick through my contact list, every third or so entry is a name and a bar: “Josh @The Crib”, “Sam @Neighbourhood”, “Mike @BrewBar”. It seems rather ridiculous, really. But I’m worried that if I delete them, they’ll txt and I’ll have to do that ‘who are you? What do you want?’ spiel.

I sigh. I’m over this. I’m over playing the frivolous dating dance. I’m over trying to figure out what they want, whether they are looking for a happy and platonic friendship, or something more. I’m at the point where I’m happy with my lot. Happy with my friends, happy with the adventures, and happy with the complete lack of drama.

I’m just not looking for anything. Not for dates, or happily ever afters, or even here and nows. I’m happy to talk to you, and I’m always cool with friending new, interesting people. The more the merrier, right? But really? I’m not interested in an average nothing with a stranger. I’m just not interested.

So I should just tell, him, right? I flick him back a txt, a quick:

“Sorry if I gave you the wrong impression, but I’m not really interested. Sorry, hey.”

Almost immediately I get a reply:

“Np. Have a gud nite!”

I’m glad it was as easy as that, a gentle, no fuss let down. An easy disengage, and we move on. He was probably a brilliant guy, I’m sure. He could have been amazing, and there might have been a happy forever, and all the what-ifs float through my head. But really? It all comes down to I’m not really interested. Sorry, hey.