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Last week I got one of those awful text messages that we all dread. It was from a date that, for the sake of privacy, we will call "Jake." He was cancelling our dinner plans. The text read like this: Can't make it tonight. Have an 8 am sales call in boston.

Anyone reading that would know that it was curtains. There was no "give me a buzz so we can reschedule," or "I'm sorry, I was really looking forward to our evening together."

I was history, and "Jake" was letting me know loud and clear.

Frankly, I had it coming. My sister's friend called him "Chocolate-earrings." He had names for all my "dates," but he said this one with a particular smirk. He called him that because of the lovely gifts he had given me for Christmas. A box of expensive Belgian chocolates (which would send me running for the Dexatrim, but I guess he wouldn't know that), and some lovely silver sparkly earrings. While I appreciated the gifts, I admit that I didn't feel anything after he gave them. In fact, I threw them carelessly on the car seat. It's embarrassing how ungracious I felt. What's that word teens use today?...a biatch? Yup, that was me. Normally, with past relationships—if a boyfriend, or even possible future boyfriend, gave me a carnation, and I was in love, I would press it lovingly in my memory book. It would be a sacred event. He was handsome, and I was attracted to him. Yet, I just never thought of him when I wasn't across the dinner table from him. "Maybe that will change" is what I kept thinking, wishing and hoping. Plus, who was I kidding? After the 11th anniversary of my 29th birthday, the pickings were slim. If I take a real hard look, the pickings are slim to none. But, much closer to none than slim.

I was going out with Jake once, occasionally twice a week. No sleepovers. No New Year's Eve, even though he asked me to spend a romantic one with him (something I worry about every year). I had been clear.

Sort of.

*

When he asked about spending more time together, I promptly deflected. I would switch topics as though I were a candidate for Ritalin. Career and real estate. Career and real estate. He must have thought I was as interesting as dating a rice cake. All my friends asked the same question:

"Do you not like this guy because he likes you, is age-appropriate, and actually available?"

Obviously, if someone asks you that question, you know that they assume the answer is yes. Truthfully, the answer is yes and no. All of us have experienced that "thing" when you meet someone and it just sparks. Chemistry is what most people call it. I called it that 10 years ago. Now I call it luck and timing. The luck is in if the person is available, lives within a 100-mile radius, and uses modern technology to communicate. The timing is if they aren't married or in the middle of a nasty divorce, or currently involved with someone. All those elements need to be right and then there's that romantic "wow" that happens. I didn't have that with this man. It made me confused and concerned that I didn't—but I couldn't force it. It just wasn't there.

*

Not that I haven't been on the other end of that situation—I have, much more often than not. You meet someone, you think there's a twitter, but they don't call. You think they lost your number, or that they didn't know you liked them even though you jammed your number into their cell phone.

Or sometimes, and this irks me the most, they call a month later. Excuse me while you get dumped or get rid of something else you have going on, and then come back to me—door # 2. How insulting is that? This one nut actually turned up two months after our "magical evening" and happened to be in the neighborhood. So he texted me, over and over, the following message: When's game time?

Enraged and embittered I texted back, "I am at a party downtown with my fiancé."

That couldn't have been further from the truth—but the fact that I was so forgettable to him made me mad. Or maybe I was just mad at the situation. I was still single, and the only people interested in me were men or "boys" like this clown.

And "The 8 am sales meeting in boston still came like a slap in the face. I did what I always do, which was call my friends, and have them weigh in. What could they possibly say? That's where you need to ask yourself the hard questions. Do we only love what we can't have? Or do we have what people can't love? Personally, I prefer the former.

A friend of mine just had a similar experience. She was dating a man who for one reason or another just wasn't "the one." She spent 20 minutes on the phone with me telling me how she simply couldn't sleep in his apartment because the window wouldn't close all the way. This was after they had slept together. All I could say was if she honestly loved this man, I didn't think she would notice the window. She didn't disagree.

We all have chocolate-earrings in our lives. We have been them as well. The big mystery is how luck and timing can happen for two people at the exact same time. When or if that happens.

Well, then. I guess it's game time.