I used to think that having a stalker might be fun — and then I had one for three days and discovered it was only annoying. It started with a text message on my cell phone asking what I was doing. I didn’t recognize the number and asked, “Who is this?” “Al,” came the reply. “You’ve got the wrong number,” I said. The caller apologized, I said no problem and thought that was the end of it. Later that day and the next came a series of texts wanting to know my name, saying he remembered me from the community college and was just looking for a girl who wanted to have some fun. Don’t get me wrong, I like fun — but the situation started to feel more than a little creepy — and I had answered none of the texts following the initial “you have the wrong number” one. When the messages persisted, I finally relented and wrote back, stating — I don’t know you, I don’t go to the community college, I’m sixty-five years old, stop this. He apologized and said “I won’t no more.” Please dear God, at least supply my next stalker with decent grammar.
Mary, I’ve had real stalker’s twice. One was really really scary, the other not so much.