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Musician hits sour note

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We’d intermittently flirted by email and phone for almost a year. We lived thousands of miles from each other so promised we’d let the other know when we’d be nearby. He toured in a popular R&B band, but not to my area. Until now.

A few months ago he told me his group was booked this week in my part of the country — but 400 miles away. Then a few weeks ago I heard on the radio that they were playing an hour away from me on the same tour so I emailed him to suggest getting together when he was near my town.

Somehow the wires got crossed. He texted me last Thursday: “I’m here.” When I replied, “Where?” he said, “At (an airport 400 miles away). Call you from my hotel.” An hour later, another text, “Where are you?” I said, “I’m at home.” “Why aren’t you here?” “Because you’re 400 miles away!”

The phone rang. He sounded confused. “What do you mean 400 miles away?” “That’s where I live.” “No! I thought you lived here.” “Nope, I’ve always lived in this city.” “I’m confused.” “Clearly!”

“I got you a ticket to tomorrow’s show here.”

“Well, I’m sorry, but I can’t get there tomorrow. I thought you’d get me a ticket for Saturday’s show near me, which is what I said in my email.”

“I blew it! I should have called you.”

Yep. He should have called.

“I can’t get you a ticket to the show near you, as all the comp tickets are taken by the other guys in the band.”


“Let me ask tomorrow to see if I can get one for you. I’ll call you tomorrow before noon.”

“Great. I’d love to see you in action.”

Friday at 11:58 I got this text: “It might be possible.” I took that to mean he had a line on a ticket and would let me know. I was hoping he’d succeed and was looking forward to meeting him and seeing the show. At 4:00 I got another text: “I’m getting dressed [for tonight’s show]. I’ll call you at 9:00.”

Nine o’clock came and went. Nothing.

I thought, “Maybe their set went long. Or they all went out to dinner afterward,” trying to give him some grace.

Saturday morning, nothing. Noon, nothing. Afternoon, nothing. I went out to dinner with a gal pal.

Sunday, nothing.

I scratch my head. I didn’t berate him for his mistake. Was he too embarrassed to call? I could have lived with, “I’m so sorry. I blew it and I can’t score a ticket for you. Let’s explore what would work for us to meet up.”

And this isn’t a case of chalking it up to musicians being flaky. His day job is a responsible position!

Or is it just one more example of a way a man says he’s not that into me? Pretty odd, I think, for a middle-aged man to behave this way. But I’ve seen it before so I shouldn’t be surprised.


Embracing Midlife MenEven though some men’s behaviors are still confusing, learn what the Dating Goddess has figured out in Embracing Midlife Men: Insights Into Curious Behaviors.

About Yury Zvyagolskiy

Yury Zvyagolskiy
In almost all American movies there is a bad guy who is usually Russian and his name is Yury. If the bad guy is not from Russia, his last name usually starts with Z. So here I am - Yury Z. My specialty is personal effectiveness. I am an expert in goal achievement, personal effectiveness, relationships and effective thinking.

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