Or he’ll agree to a date knowing that a day or two before he’ll find some way to cancel.
I wonder aloud if Billy and his dates are benching each other, having reached a mutual understanding that the planned meetings will never take place (e.g., the polite veneer of making drink plans with former co-workers we run into on Bleecker Street).
It’d be one thing if we were occasionally hanging out (or even becoming fuck buddies), but that never happened.
No successful relationship was ever born from a situation in which one person strung the other along until — in a moment of epiphany — he realized everything glorious and noble and luminescent was in front of him all along.
I can’t remember many instances where I’ve been benched by a girl, but it’s been pretty easy to benchthem.” Part of what makes benching so attractive is its plausible deniability.
In a city where you can run into the guy who Gchat-dumped you or the jerk who ghosted after two months of dating, benching passes the sidewalk-run-in test exquisitely.
So I would ping him occasionally, just enough to pique his interest and dangle the carrot of a possible relationship without ever actually following through with plans.
To use a sports metaphor (my first ever), he would be on the roster but not in play; I’d decided to bench him.
Maybe it seems like I just don’t want to be an asshole, but to me it’s just The irony, of course, is that benching, while superficially polite, is far more insidious than simply ghosting or — if you’re old-school — offering an icy brush-off.