Nomadic Nurse Diaries

Dear Gin and Tonic,

Please, for the love of all things sweet and simple, make me forget this man.

There I was, sipping on a gin and tonic, one of life’s few reliable pleasures, and rethinking my five dates with Mr. Selective Memory. It’s been a mix of effortless conversations, undeniable chemistry, and, yes, a few red flags waving in my face like they’re trying to get my attention like a bullfighter. I couldn’t shake the feeling that he was holding back—like maybe he wasn’t as into this as I was. So, naturally, I did what any overthinker would do: I asked him straight up if he remembered us going out three years ago. Because, really, what’s worse? Being ghosted or finding out you’re entirely forgettable?

Let’s back up for a second because this wasn’t one of those one-off coffee dates where you forget to ask for their last name. No, our first date three years ago was much like our first date this time around. Picture this: a local brewery, great conversation, and all the stars aligning as we sipped on some craft beer. We ended up back at his house, where we drank scotch on his porch under the moonlight and slow danced to country music. It was like a scene straight out of a rom-com. And then—brace yourself for this—I slept in the guest bedroom in his basement, and the next morning, I clogged his toilet. Yes, I had to text him a warning about the imminent plumbing disaster. Now, tell me, how do you forget that?

Despite the toilet mishap (which, let’s be honest, should’ve been a memorable moment), he asked me out for a second date. This time, we drove up the canyon to a restaurant overlooking the mountains. He told me that’s where his parents had met—or somewhere in the area while skiing, I think. The details are fuzzy, but the conversation was good, and I felt like we were really connecting. He drove me home, and that was that. The next morning, I sent him a simple “hope you have a great day” text, and his response was… shocking, to say the least: “Hey, I don’t think this is going to work.” Talk about a plot twist.

Now, I need to explain something. I am the queen of self-deprecation and the reigning champ of convincing myself that no one is actually into me. Seriously, I need BLATANTLY obvious signs to believe someone likes me. So when I say we had great dates, trust me, we had great dates. Yet, there I was, receiving a “let’s not do this” text like I’d just made an awkward joke at a family dinner.

Fast forward to tonight. I’m still into this guy, but I’m getting those vibes—the kind that make you wonder if you’re more into them than they are into you. He’s talking about how he’d pursue a serious relationship with me if I wasn’t planning to leave soon. Fair enough, I get it. But then, as I’m mulling over these mixed signals, I decide to just rip the band-aid off and ask him about three years ago. That’s when he hits me with the “let’s treat this like a travel romance and leave it where it is” line. Excuse me, what? This isn’t a Nicholas Sparks novel; I’m not here for a fleeting summer fling. I’m the girl who clogs toilets, not someone you keep an open line of communication with just in case our paths cross again in the distant future.

Anyway, back to the point. I finally said, “fuck it,” and asked him if he remembered going out three years ago. And do you know what he said? No. He doesn’t remember. Doesn’t remember the brewery. Doesn’t remember the canyon. Doesn’t remember the girl who sent him a “please don’t go into the basement bathroom” text the morning after our first date.

But here’s the thing—it’s not that he forgot. That’s not what really stings. What hurts is that he doesn’t have the same feelings for me that I have for him. I thought we were on the same page, that maybe this could be something real. But apparently, I’m the one who caught feelings while he’s over here treating this like a casual fling. How did I misread this so badly?

I know I’m not forgettable. I’m smart, funny, and the kind of person who clogs your toilet and still manages to make you laugh about it. But this… this makes me feel like maybe I was just another girl he went on a few dates with, someone to pass the time with until something better came along.

It’s difficult to share every detail of this whirlwind (and now somewhat embarrassing) relationship, but my feelings felt real. I genuinely thought there was something there. But this, this was a punch to the gut. I hate dating. I hate hate dating. How do you put yourself out there, invest time, and end up being the girl who’s forgotten? I know he was into me… or at least I thought he was. But if that’s true, how does he not remember?

So, dear Gin and Tonic, keep ‘em coming because I need to forget this man who apparently forgot me.

Yours in perpetual solidarity,

The Nomadic Nurse