Number Twenty-Three Revisited

Although Number Twenty-Three has the face that could totally make all of the members of a Nativity scene cry (except for Joseph), there were some things about him that didn't add up...at least in my world.

Once upon a time - long before my life was drastically changed - Number Twenty-Three asked me to go out for drinks. I was floored, but I accepted his invitation. We would talk, and, you know, things kind of evolved...but not by epic proportions. Now, I think Number Twenty-Three knew I was a little sweet on him - not that a lot of girls WOULDN'T be sweet on him, and that's where things changed. We went from talking to nothing at all. The texts? Suddenly stopped and I could so hear crickets on the other end whenever I asked him if he wanted to hang out for coffee.

No seriously. I heard crickets. Chirping. LOUDLY.

So after many days of my friends hearing the same story over and over (thanks, friends), and after I listened to any and all angry chick music I had put on my iTunes music list (thank you, Fiona Apple), I finally got over my love (lust?) for Number Twenty-Three. Don't get me wrong, here. Number Twenty-Three is a wonderful person, it's just that he doesn't quite know how to be straightforward or polite when it comes to affairs of the heart. I honestly don't think he understands the full extent of his actions, and how they're totally not in sync with that beautiful face of his. In short, I guess I was kind of in love with the idea of Number Twenty-Three, and not Number Twenty-Three the person.

Go figure, because it's definitely how I roll. Oh well. At least I can use the story of Number Twenty-Three as an example for my unborn, yet to be adopted daughter from Ethiopia. Until then? I'll always have my memories...I guess.