A fact of life is that some people are crazy. And sometimes you find out someone is crazy after exchanging bodily fluids and phone numbers.
Guy #84 and I spent about an hour together. It was good. He was very passionate, funny, kind and made me feel completely at ease.
He liked me as well.
I know, because I had forty missed calls the morning after.
Over seventy on the second day.
About thirty on the third.
In between came the text messages. The first one went something like Hey, why are you not picking up? Are you there? About four or five text messages later I was bombarded by F-bombs, raging obscenities and uncontrolled anger, interwoven with desperate pleas for contact.
The sex between us had been so good I had given Guy #84 not just my phone number, I had also deemed him worthy of a Facebook friendship.
Within days he began attacking some of my cute looking Facebook friends, informing them of the kind of slut I was. (As if my cute looking Facebook friends didn’t already know.)
To date, Guy #84 has been the only person I ever had to block on Facebook, and that’s saying something.
I should hope it goes without saying I had no intention of seeing Guy #84 ever again at this point. Nothing is as unattractive as a stalker.
Except of course a stalker that quits.
I have to say I was somewhat disappointed to get but thirty missed calls on the third day. I could sense Guy #84 was giving up the fight. Indeed, the few missed calls I got on the fourth day were obligatory at best, but hardly suffocating like they were a few days before.
To his credit, Guy #84 proceeded by creating a fake Facebook account, from which he contacted me posing as his friend. His so called ‘friend’ said Guy #84 had some psychological problems and asked if I was willing to forgive his shortcomings and give him another chance.
But after ignoring Guy #84’s fake friend the stalking stopped, barely a week after it got started.
In my opinion, the Oxford dictionary should define the word stalkers as follows:
Stalkers: Crazy people who are fully aware of their own insanity, which doesn’t make them crazy, just weak, manipulative and downright evil. Or, to phrase it liberally: Stalkers are chickens too afraid to love themselves.
But darn it, are they good at sex!