If at first you don't succeed, try, try again. And again. And then some more. And maybe give it another shot. And then one more time. Ok, one more time after that. Until you become a stalker.
This guy has been messaging me all year--March 6, April 28, July 8, October 19, November 11, November 12, later on November 12, yet again on November 12, November 17 and today. I don't respond, but he keeps on trying. Like a raccoon scratching at your patio door. I would block him, but it provides entertainment. And blog material. But why don't I respond, you ask? Well, aside from the poor capitalization, lack of punctuation, and cyber stalking, there's this:
Honored and creeped out as I am to be the object of your friend-with-benefits desire, let it be known that I already have lots of friends, I get benefits from work, and I am not an adulteress. It's a thing with me...the Ten Commandments and all. (There's a whole other post coming soon about that.)
But the litany of messages...I mean come on. The last one came up as I was taking a screen shot of his profile for this post. Note the green circle next to his photo. That means he's online. So he saw that I was online and sent me a message. Because, you know, today just might be the day that enough of my good-decision-making brain cells die and I message back. I am on some good drugs for a foot injury, which I washed down this morning with a mimosa (on accident, seriously, I thought it was just OJ), and I did have a lot of anesthetic shot into my cheek for a filling, and have only eaten a 230-calorie Lean Cuisine all day, but even all of that has not clouded my judgement as I have a pretty good tolerance...but not for men like this.
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