You Said No and Then Spent Twenty Minutes Apologizing for It

Saying no to a man should, in theory, be a remarkably brief event. He asks whether you can see him tonight, you cannot—or simply do not want to—and you say no. That really ought to settle things.

Except the little word has barely left your mouth before you start looking at it.

Was that too abrupt? He sounded a tiny bit disappointed. Maybe you should explain why. And while you are explaining, perhaps you should make sure he knows you still like him, still want to see him and have not suddenly decided to disappear into the Alps.

Goodness. The poor no has been standing there for thirty seconds and already you are trying to make it more comfortable.

The No Was Fine Until You Started Improving It

If we could put the whole thing on beautiful stationery, it might begin with one perfectly elegant sentence:

No, I can’t tonight.

Clear, polite and unlikely to ruin anybody’s evening.

But then you look at all that empty paper around it and the sentence begins to seem a little lonely. Maybe a reason would soften things. So you add one, and once the reason is sitting there, you feel oddly compelled to explain that too, just in case he reads it in some terrible way you never intended.

Before long, there is also a warm little sentence about how much you would love to see him another time, followed by an apology and perhaps a suggestion for another evening.

Sir asked one question.

You are now writing a letter.

And guilt is wonderfully sneaky this way. It does not particularly care whether your no was perfectly reasonable; it wants to know whether he is completely happy about receiving it.

So if he sounds even slightly disappointed, back you go.

Maybe tomorrow would work. Or the weekend. You could probably move something around. You really are sorry.

Madam, five minutes ago you simply could not see him tonight.

Soon the Little No Has Quite an Entourage

By now, the original no is becoming rather difficult to spot. It is still in there somewhere, naturally, but it has been surrounded by explanations, reassurance, apologies and possible future plans like a tiny celebrity who cannot possibly travel alone.

And this is where the whole thing becomes especially funny, because you have not rejected the man, ended the relationship or announced that you are leaving the country.

You declined one evening.

Judging by the length of the message, however, one might think you had just canceled the entire romance.

He may not even be particularly upset. Perhaps he simply said, “Okay,” which ought to be reassuring except now you are wondering whether the okay sounded a little too okay.

So you add:

I hope you’re not upset.

Marvelous. We have now introduced the possibility of upset to a man who may have been peacefully making himself dinner.

Somehow Your No Has Become Very Expensive

The real comedy begins when guilt turns one small refusal into an increasingly generous offering.

You started with I can’t tonight. Twenty minutes later, you have apologized twice, suggested another evening, reassured him about your feelings and perhaps offered a phone call in the meantime, just so the poor gentleman does not have to endure the terrible hardship of you having plans.

Sir, meanwhile, appears to have survived the original no beautifully.

You are the one still tending to it.

Do this often enough and saying no begins to feel exhausting, not because the word itself is difficult, but because you never allow it to go anywhere by itself. It must leave accompanied by explanations, reassurance, affectionate little extras and something lovely promised for later.

The imaginary letter is now several pages long. There may be a postscript. Possibly two.

And somewhere underneath all that tenderness sits the tiny sentence that started the whole production:

I can’t tonight.

It was doing perfectly well on its own.

You felt so guilty about disappointing him that your simple no ended up wrapped in enough reassurance to survive the evening beautifully.