Men like to give me stuff.
Unfortunately, none of it is sugar-daddy quality -- no cars, pricey jewelry or glitzy pieds-a-terre.
It's more along the lines of sweet, eclectic tchotchkes: miniature frogs, small toys, an old kitchen timer, buttons (I collect them), Pez, cast-iron cowboy boot salt-and-pepper shakers, the previously mentioned Beatles White Album...
My friend Shaken Mama and I joke about this phenomenon, because even her husband (then a boyfriend) fell prey when they went to see Huey Lewis in Las Vegas and he insisted they buy me a T-shirt. (Thanks, Hub-D!)
Anyway, I'm not complaining, just leading up to what I really want to write about tonight, which is that in addition to gifting me these sweet items, some men tend to hang on to me.
There was the Fed Ex guy in Delaware to whom I was engaged for a short while. When I broke it off, he stalked me and we ended up in court, me getting a restraining order. Because I'm crazy nice (put the emphasis on whichever word you want), I still talk to him when he calls, but only because I'm 3,000 miles away. He's still unmarried, but no longer at Fed Ex. Now, he's a limo driver. And though it's been 15 years, he'll still end his voicemail with "Love you."
I'm the kind of person who talks to everyone, from janitor to publisher. I have an insatiable desire to know everything about everyone. My first inspiration in life was Harriet the Spy.
As a result of my candor, I think, some men -- generally the inappropriate ones -- get attached to me.
This is really a big lead-up to a small correspondence that pissed me off this morning.
When I was a college intern, I worked for someone who made what you might say was an indecent proposal. I was uncomfortable but planned to keep it to myself. Until the receptionist took matters into her own hands and reported it to Human Resources. The man was moved to another office, I felt like shit, and he was so manipulative that to this day I look back and think, "What happened?" and doubt myself.
A few years ago, he looked me up and found my e-mail address. The e-mails are always passive aggressive. He eerily remembers my birthday each year because I share it with his mother.
Though my birthday isn't until Thursday, I got his annual e-mail today.
Here's how it started out:
"You have officially reached middle age, based on life expectancies."
WHO, I ask you (unless they're your BEST friend and clearly joking), says that?
And more importantly, why do I care?