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 In which David fails a test

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It’s not like me to persist. But, having been ignored/rejected when I asked David whether he planned to come for Christmas, I rather boldly sent him this.

‘Hi handsome. Are you dead? Would you like to come with me to my office party on Tuesday in Soho? We could go out for dinner after?’

He replied: ‘Sounds lovely. I can’t. I’m sorry. X’

It reminds me of the Post-It left on Carrie Bradshaw’s desk the morning after the night before. ‘I can’t. I’m sorry. Don’t hate me.’

I know when I’ve been dumped, but still, I do wish men had the courage of their convictions. To say what has annoyed them, rather than just sulk and go all evasive and cryptic. So I just left it at that. It’s odd because, when I told him the Dries dress he bought me was too big, he’d written, ‘I bet you look sexy as hell. X’

The next day, he sent this: ‘How was your party?’

‘It was okay. I met my friend after, gave him my screenplay.’

‘What does he do?’

‘He’s written a book that’s being made into a film. He lives in New York.’

He replied, ‘Cool.’

Do you know what I hate even more than........

© Mail Online