I’m glad I put Sunday in a little box and stored it away.. as I now have to start facing up to the next challenge to face the budding PUA….

Looks like my gorgeous Indian from Sunday has done so… who knows why? I’m sure she has a logical reason in her genetically illogical and confused brain. Bless.

I need to steal myself to get flaked on…. A LOT. Such is the life of the PUA. You take girls, manipulate their state, pump them up, get a number, and the next day when they’re back to normal it just feels so different for them. Add ontop of that the constant state of confusion that the western woman lives in and her pathological need to always hold out for something better and you get a lot of flaking.

But thankfully I am starting to taste that most glorious of attributes, one of the foundations of PUA’ness… Yes, I mean

I used to think there was something so cold and callous about harvesting numbers and trawling through them like a telesales agent and working all the angles. Now I’ve had a taste of the game I see nothing wrong with this. Women cause it! Their endless flaking means only the indifferent man can take it. Any sensitive guy will be ripped to shreds. Let’s run through a few scenarios:

A typical AFC is on the way home from work. By accident he happens to get talking to a girl on the tube on the way home. Seems to go well. Through sheer nerves he doesn’t blab on too much and manages to come across less Herby than normal. Through sheer panic he asks for a number and gets it. He takes it home and can’t believe it. Finally! He’s met a good woman, his loneliness is over. Where shall he take her for their first date? What shall he wear? Ohh, when should he call her? He wonders if she’s thinking of him. When should he call her. He goes to sleep happy and resolves to call the next day. The next day his nerves and tingling all morning and he feels a little sick with anxiety. ‘Come on mate’ he tells himself ‘don’t want to be single for ever!’. Finally he resolves to do it and calls the number. Voicemail. Never mind. He leaves a little message in a falsely jolly voice and asks her to call him back. By evening time he has been running scenarios through his brain all day. Maybe her battery was dead? Maybe she was too busy? Maybe there’s no signal in her office? He spends thirty minutes crafting a text message and sends it over.

Bed time rolls up and still no response. He’s starting to feel weird now. Howcome she hasn’t contacted him? She must be really busy. Next day he tries calling again but after ringing for a while it goes to voicemail. He leaves another message. By now he is starting to feel weepy. What’s going on? They had a good chat. She seemed nice. Not too pretty but nice looking. Not too young. Relatively intelligent. He knows he’s an interesting, sensitive guy. Surely she wants a boyfriend?

Finally the day after he gets it. She isn’t going to call him. He goes to the toilets at work and has a bit of a cry. Why? Why bother giving your number if you don’t want to call someone? He can’t understand women. Maybe he’ll always be single. He really should try Guardian Soulmates.

HB5.5 is 30, describes herself as ‘curvy’ and would list her interests as ‘friends, socialising, cooking, movies’. She’s on the way home from work one night and the driver makes a weird announcement and for a few seconds the London-coldness slips and everyone laughs about it. There’s some guy next to her says something witty and they get talking for a few minutes. He seems nice enough, the friendly sort and probably quite sensitive. He says a few funny things and she laughs a bit. He asks for her number and, well, he seems ‘ok’ so she gives it. Nothing special. Nice enough. You never know.

Next day she’s at work and her phone rings. She doesn’t recognize the number so doesn’t bother answering. A voicemail appears and it’s that bloke off the tube. Oh. Seems a bit keen calling after only meeting someone once. Well he’s hardly her dream man, not that handsome and no… je ne sais quoi… she’s really looking for someone quite tall, broad, dark, rugby player type.. like Gavin she went out with when she was 25. She doesn’t call back and heads off to the vending machine to get some Maltesers.. and a Caramac. Later on he texts her. Gross. Next day the freak calls again. Talk about keen. A bit sad. She adds his number in with a name of ‘X’ so she can recognize it and not answer it.

Opened 23 sets today. Got 2 instant dates, 5 Facebooks and 3 numbers. Called them all Tuesday. Most flaked but one instant date looks very good.

Met a cool guy on the tube. Gave him my number. Next day I just felt kind of down, a bit tired…….blah, blah, blah, white noise….who cares?

I prefer the latter.