Next up for book club is Love in the Time of Cholera by Gabriel Garcia Marquez. It’s pretty good. Lots of detail. Old world, romantic Europe back when people used to write letters and sealed them with wax, and women didn’t have sex until their wedding night. That kind of old world.
So I’m about a quarter into it. There’s this adolescent love affair (via letters) going on between a distinguished girl who comes from money and a hard-working telegram assistant. This letter-writing relationship goes on for years. Betrayed and angry over his daughter’s transgressions, the girl’s father whisks her off so that she can forget about this love-sick laborer. She doesn’t forget. In fact, her love continues even stronger until the day when she returns as a mature young adult a couple years later and meets her beloved for the first time face-to-face. When she meets him, she’s so horrified she realizes what a mistake the whole letter-writing fiasco was to begin with. But even after she dimisses him, the telegram assistant vows his eternal love and fidelity to her.
Enough of the book. Switch over to my life. I don’t get letters sealed in wax. No, I continue to get voicemails and text messages from a stalker who will not leave me alone. I’m not sure if it’s been a year or more that I met this guy. Honestly, I don’t keep track of the timeframes when I meet people in my life who are not noteworthy. The only thing noteworthy about this loser is that he continues to try and insert himself in my life. The voicemail today said, “Hi Catherine. This is David. (Ahem…hah,hah,ha) I guess this is my time again to say hello and see how you’re doing. And to see if I might be able to take you out sometime for dinner. I’d really like that. And you know, you can never have too many friends which at the very least I’d like to have with you…a friendship. I think that would be nice.”
THE ONLY THING THAT I CAN THINK OF THAT WOULD BE NICER IS TO READ YOUR OBITUARY IN THE SUNDAY TIMES.
Don’t quote me on the above. Don’t check with David for accuracy. I was so enflamed in rage. I deleted the message and started muttering to myself in the middle of Union Square.
I’m a good girl. I swear. I admit I used to lose my temper a lot. But not anymore. But this guy has not left me alone since the night we had dinner and I never talked to him again…EVER. The fact that I had to guide you while you parallel parked made my skin crawl. David, David, David. Loser doormat of a David. Get a life and please leave me alone. Maybe the non-response for the past year doesn’t work for you. I’m going to have to resort to stronger signals.
FUCK YOU, LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE, YOU STALKER!