Barring an email Wednesday morning, I've not seen hide nor hair of PNY.

The date was going well. So well that he asked me to think about spending Labor Day weekend with him in Atlantic City.

Too many drinks later, he tries to cop several feels (and succeeded once or twice). I playfully blew it off.

After that, we went to grab a bite. Under the table, he puts his hand on my inner thigh and moves it up. My first instinct was to close them on his hand. And not in a sexy way- I snapped those honeys shut like a spring-loaded trap to prevent any sneak previews of the Golden Palace of the Himalayas.

So I launch into an, "Am-I-just-a-piece-of-ass-to-you?" line of questioning. Well obviously, but since we'd been drinking from 5:30 to 11:30 (with no dinner up until this point), my brain exceeded the capacity for rational thought. He dismissed my claims, as any man (regardless of intentions) would. I conceded, he suggested we forget the whole thing happened.

Which was fine by me. Now I believe he meant the entire date.

In his email on Wednesday morning, he infact mentioned that when we go out again, we have to set a school night curfew, blah, blah, blah...

But again, since then- bubkis: no calls, no emails. And you know what- I'm not even going to try to analyze this. It's a game of show and tell. He's telling me nothing but showing me everything, as Don Coccotti said.

So whatev. I already have another date for Saturday night.