Let’s chat. First, I am not engaged. Surprise, I’m sure, but sadly, no. Now, I was dating a cop not too long ago, but if there was a ring involved, I certainly didn’t stick around long enough to find out. There are actually several men of uniform that could have been the “other half” of this evil gossip — I won’t deny that I haven’t met a cop I didn’t like. But I ascertain that I also haven’t dated a cop that I would consider a rough interpretation of marriage material. And, of course, this gossip monger is an unrecognizable 440 number, so I HAVE to text back. Hello, there’s my reputation at stake!
Mel: Uh, I’m not engaged. Who is this and where did you get that info?
440: …
You know what, screw that. I was going to transcribe the entire immature and unnecessary conversation, but at this point it just pisses me off that his answer was… (wait for it)
MySpace.
I’m not sure what should go out on the tree lawn first: my Nokia or my Mac.
Technology has not only killed interpersonal communication skills, but any sort of sensibility and comprehension with even an adult male. For chrissakes, my profile says I’m from Belgium.
Sidenote: I met this guy LAST summer. And he decided to finally delete my number NOW?
Wonders never cease to amaze me.
