The fat lady is still inhaling...

1903 - Helen Keller completes "The Story of My Life," a book now heralded as a masterpiece, despite a mild case of total blindness and somewhat complete inability to hear a thing.

1929 - Virginia Woolf publishes "A Room of One's Own," an essay defining the distinctive struggle of the woman artist, despite a mild case of insufferability. And suicidal tendencies.

2008 - Bambi sends an email.

In terms of historical importance, it may be a long time before my own contribution is recognized. I would argue though, that my email is no less courageous.

Tuesday, I sent an email to Darcy. This went against my nature. My instinct was to do absolutely nothing and chalk the whole experience up to whatever genetic mistake rendered me heterosexual.

Luckily I have a friend who is much bolder than I am, and upon hearing that Darcy also makes a stupid amount of money in addition to being everything else I described she declared that the situation was not to be taken lightly. Something more was called for.

I swear to God more planning went into this email than went into the war in Iraq. I stayed away from MSN in preparation and rejected several drafts. My email was four lines long.

It was also cheeky, funny, light-hearted, and fairly bold. In it I asked that Darcy let me know when he was ready for a second date. Not if - but when.

The next day I had an email back. He thought my email was very funny. Apparently he's sorry. He's been so busy, moving and building houses and trying to get roofs on before it rains and etc. but he'll get in touch when he has more time.

I didn't reply, and I stayed offline.

Last night I broke down, went online again and Darcy finally gets in touch with me. We have a very flirty chat that way for over an hour. I'm just as shocked as both of you.

You'd think I would be happy now wouldn't you? You'd think I'd be feeling more secure? You'd think at least part of my brain cells would have spontaneously regenerated? Wouldn't you?

Um...no. You see, we still don't have plans to actually see one another again. The conversation never went that way at all, despite me willing it to go that way until my hair and teeth hurt.

I'm very aware of a fourth work of brilliance titled, "He's Just Not That Into You." I've read the first couple of chapters surreptiously in Chapters, and believe the authors may be onto something.

I'm just refusing to apply their logic to my particular scenario. Yet. Despite the novelty, I rather like being hopeful.