In the past couple of days I’ve told a certain Gentleman Caller to, well, stop calling me.
I started dating him last summer. Things were great. He brought me flowers. He cooked me bacon. He DVR’ed the 24 movie for me because he knew I didn’t have television. And he shared my desire to get Obama elected. Awwww.
But then, a couple of months ago, he just… stopped seeing me. And even though he wasn’t seeing me, he called. Once a week. For like 15-minute increments. And if I didn’t answer the phone he’d call again and again.
But he never wanted to see me. Even though I expressed to him that I wanted to see him. Jus’ didn’t happen. “I’m busy.”
Now, I know damned well that if a dude wants to be with a woman he will make it happen. So I just got fed up.
So anyhoo, last Friday I changed his ringtone from “Don’t Call Me No Mo” to a completely silent ringtone I typically reserve for telemarketers and bill collectors. I also turned off my voice mail, really because I never listen to it anyway.
So after he calls me time after time yesterday I just had had it and I let him know in writing that I didn’t want to do the weekly call thing anymore.
He did the typical “huh?” response that dudes do, because dudes just don’t have the same thought processes we ladies do. And I let him know that I’d rather skip the weekly call than have the same old conversation every week.
Blargh. And it’s sad. He’s a nice guy. He shares a lot of my passions, a lot of my interests, he’s social like me and interesting like me and funny like me. But – meh. Just not there!
Oh, well. The Adventures of Bellesouth, the Single Thirtysomething, continue.