(A Stalker Update)
As you might recall, I did not call my stalker on Thursday as promised.
Back when I was dating, the whole not calling thing was a pretty clear indicator.
Apparently they have different rules in Chicago, because Tito didn't get the hint.
Instead, he came looking for me, and obsessively combed my neighbourhood until "fate" crossed our paths, because when a girl fails to call him he doesn't think "hmm, maybe she's not interested" but rather thinks "something terrible must have happened to her for her not to call, and therefore, even though I've only met her once and don't know her last name or her address or really anything about her since I mostly just enjoy talking about myself and how suave I am, I should go in search for her because chicks really love when creepy dudes invade their privacy".
So when he found me (can you believe he found me? that's the part that really makes me mad!), he scheduled another pre-arranged call, this time for Friday morning.
I felt that this time, I WOULD call, because not calling had not worked so brilliantly the day before. I would call and tell him in no uncertain terms to back the fuck off and leave me the hell alone.
But I'm glad I posted, because thanks to the many readers who took the time to laugh with me, flinch with me, and share their own stalker experiences, I did heed the advice and decided NOT to call after all.
And I didn't hide in my house, either. I took to the streets (albeit with a man who asked "well, is he bigger than me?" to which I replied, truthfully, not) and spent a nice day stalker-less.
I sincerely hope the story ends there. Thanks for pointing me in the right direction, guys. And yes: if he shows up again, I will head to the nearest public place and request that the police be called.
And what became of the egg?
Well, it made a brief appearance in my left pocket on Friday morning, during which I had an alarming incident involving blood and puss and the untimely demise of my beautiful cream bed linens and my new capris.
The egg has not been pocketed since (although, to be fair, when I discarded my capris I put on a skirt, which had no pockets). However, I think it's fair to say that over the course of this summer, the egg just might make another appearance or two. I'm going to suck some bloody luck out of that thing if it kills me (and me thinks it just might).