She's just not that into you
I went to see the house with Mrs H today. It turns out that it belongs to her daughter.
“This is the second time my daughter’s done this to me,” she said.
“What’s that?” I asked.
“I show someone my house, and they like it but… Then I show them this one and they take it immediately.”
The house is in a hidden court. The downstairs floors are hardwood (though they could stand to be sanded and polished), and the three bedrooms have carpeting. (What is it with grey carpets!) The living room has the sky lights, and the bedrooms are in the back half of the house. One of the bedrooms has a kind of balcony to the living room.
As I gave her a deposit made arrangements to meet her daughter (the owner) and sign the lease, I realized that this was pretty much it.
Sometimes I watch her getting ready for work, and I love the way she looks in her suits. I love when she’s on the phone giving orders to her subordinates. I admire that strength, her regal bearing. I shouldn’t be surprised that she has turned that attitude of command on me. There was a time, though, when she was soft with me, when she turned it off. But at some point our relationship became another problem for her to manage.
It was probably around this time that I was watching “Sex and the City” reruns and came across the “He’s just not that into you” episode.
The mantle of truth descended on me: She just wasn’t into me anymore. There was nothing to do to change how she felt about me. She wasn’t into me, and it didn’t matter how I felt about that. Which was very sad, of course.