Dear Guy Who Won't Stop Calling Me

Hello, there. You know who you are. You didn't do anything wrong, and you're a perfectly nice, perfectly good guy. But the thing is, I'm simply just not interested. You know? In either a friend or a BF, you know? No, please don't pretend like I couldn't possibly be talking to you. You know I'm talking to you. If you keep calling like you do for the past 4+ years, and I haven't once returned a call, there's no doubt you're googling my name--and your ass off, and that puts you right here.

Isn't that sort of a sign? A cruel 4+ years sign in the point of a Slow-Ripping Off of the Band-Aid Never Once Returning Your Call Sign, even though I have all three of your phone numbers, and your home and work email? I mean, right? Like, don't you want to call someone who will return your calls because they actually want to have a conversation with you? I stopped calling people who don't return my calls years ago. You know why? They don't have a need / want / desire to talk. To me.

Me! Me? Me? Who doesn't want to talk to me! He must have not gotten my message. Um, yeah, he did, Anne, stop calling him. Hey, I can't believe it either, but it's true. It took me awhile to figure it out, but I did. Now I realize I'm a little uncomfortable with the fact that the person on the other end of the line really doesn't want to talk to me that much. I think it's why I'd be a terrible telemarketer. One of the reasons.

So, maybe try it, the stopping calling thing, ok guy? It does wonders for the self-esteem. I promise.

Thanks. Bye.

Anne

PS I may look adorable, but I'm not sweet. Don't be fooled; I'm an a-hole. A total fuckin' a-hole. I'm tellin' you, listen to someone when they're tellin' you they're an a-hole, a-hole. Call your mother instead. You don't want to talk to me. I promise.

PPS Please don't be a serial killer and have me find you standing over my bed in the middle of the night with a kitchen knife. That would be awkward. Plus, the good knife's in the sink, and that seems to me to be a pretty shameful way to die --not to mention make me look like a bad housekeeper-- to be murdered with her own dirty kitchen knife. Thanks. Bye.