Dear former lovers,


Please do not run into me years later while I am coming home from polo, drenched in sweat and wearing a stained shirt. It would be much more polite if you arranged to run into me on a day when I am strolling around in thigh high boots with my wife on my arm - perhaps whilst on my way to an awards ceremony to be given a prize.

Dads have the best answers

With regard to the stalker mentioned two posts ago:

Me: "Can you deal with him please?"
Dad: "Sure kitten, how many bones would you like me to break?"

Helpful wife

Me: He's making me feel awful no matter what I do.
Wife: Perhaps you could mention your wife would not appreciate him speaking to you that way...and just got a new bone saw.

In which I regret ever buying a phone

As a bellydancer, I occasionally get stalkers. I did get rid of the worst one by being so ultraviolently obscene to him that he told me I was sick and never called me again, and the same treatment may be needed for this one, who has been ringing and texting from multiple numbers since October. I wasted some time begging a then-boyfriend to scare him off but that went nowhere. For months I ignored him but this week I tried replying. Today's exchange was as follows, and for the full effect one must imagine the Salad Fingers voice:

He: U make me feel funni when you do the bellroll
I: Your infantile grasp of the English language elicits far less positive feelings from me
He: U r funni. Thinking of u dancing makes me feel good.
I: Similarly, thinking of skull-fucking your mother's still-twitching corpse gives me a bit of a hard-on
He: Ur sexy

Quote

Other bellydancer: Is there a term for people with a fear of glitter?
Me: Un-fabulous!

I am businesslike

I just had a business call an hour early because my employer forgot the time difference between our countries. I am amused that the frantic scramble to make my room presentable for video skype I had to move ridiculous numbers of condom wrappers (they were just for work, I swear...or does that make it sound worse?), about eight smashed port bottles, and a pair of lurex hotpants. I then threw on a collared shirt and discussed eighteenth-century finance like a perfectly respectable human being. Ha.

Speaking of respectably human beings: Before the call I had been on the phone with my wife, who is at work at fretting that "there are dead bodies everywhere". She's pretty good at one-upping me with the work crises.

Enthusiasm

I just came across this exchange, from nearly a year ago:

-Is he your boyfriend person?

-He is my future husband! But I am trying to be cool about him. I may be failing.

-Are you seeing him tomorrow?

-Yes.

-What are you doing?

-Kissing!