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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.

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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.

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