Home / Humor / Columns / The Dating Project / The Disappearing Act

The Disappearing Act

Published: August 26, 2014

The Magician gave all kinds of ardent text.

Magician: I was super-horny today. I wish I could have slept over.

His attention was flattering. Until it wasn’t. All at once his SMS became less frequent. He started canceling dates.

Magician: I miss you.
Me: So when are you going to see me?
Magician: I don’t know.
Me: Let me know when you know.

A few weeks went by before I heard from him again.

Me: Why did you go AWOL?
Magician: I hate talking about this stuff. I think I feel weird because we both want different things, and I was kind of getting attached to you, and when I’m not sure what to do, I tend to just shut down and avoid people.

That was almost sweet. Except for the part about avoiding me.

Me: So we’re not sleeping together anymore?
Magician: We have incredible sex.
Me: This is true. And now you don’t want to.
Magician: If things were different you would be my girlfriend.
Me: They aren’t different.

He kept texting as if it made sense to disappear for weeks, dump me via SMS, and become my buddy.

Me: You know there were better ways of handling this, right?
Magician: I don’t like how I handle things either.
Me: I’m sure you were very hurt by it.

The Magician was never going to be a permanent fixture. We were a fling. Gently and with gratitude, I was going to manumit him after I found someone appropriate. In the meantime it was dreamy.

Magician: The only reason I began to even act so weird is because I liked you too much. You don’t even realize how much I like you. Like I really, really, really, really like you.

So he joined the Witness Protection Program. This did not give me my groove back. It wasn’t better than being alone.

Magician: I think I’ve done this to a lot of women. I’ve only ever broken up with a woman once in my life and she screamed and cried and punched me.

I had slept with a child who behaved like a child. I don’t want the Magician breaking the heart of some poor unsuspecting 19-year-old. It seemed my last act as Mrs. Robinson required a lesson in how to break up with me. Cougaring is a lame deal for the cat.

 

Previous post: The Test
Next post: How to Break Up

Read More: