When my cell phone rang, I was standing in the hair product aisle at Walgreens. My cell doesn't ring all that often, so out of curiosity, I answered it.
Big mistake.
Porsche Guy wanted to know if I wanted to meet him for dinner. Instinct told me to lie and tell him that I already ate. He downshifted into an invitation for a drink. Stalling, I told him I was in the middle of something and could he call me back in an hour or so?
Why didn't I just tell him to drop dead?
When we originally exchanged business cards at Wrigley Field, it occurred to both of us (to my initial horror) that we live in adjacent buildings! Okay, maybe my misgivings at his proximity should've prompted me to end things then and there. This nut job lives next door to me?!?! Why I let this flirtation continue, I'll never know.
In the time between his first and second calls, I formulated the wording for a polite, but definite "not interested" talk.
And then I chickened out.
The cell phone rang and I just stared at it from the sofa without moving. Maybe he'll get the hint.
Fast forward to this morning at 8:30. I'm finishing up my session with my physical terrorist, oops, therapist. My cell brriiings to tell me I have a text message.
"Does anyone want to play hooky? It's a nice day."
The nice guys fall off the face of the earth after one date. The crazies call me all the time!
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