I’ve numbed myself sufficiently and I’ve also set an unanswered contact limit to two. After that, I assume she’s not interested or incapacitated (and I won’t delve into which one I prefer; let that one stew in my imagination).
The progression of the unanswered contacts usually goes like this:
- I miss you. When are we going to get together again?
- Hi, Sexy.
- Hey, how’s it going?
- Just thinking about you.
- Is your phone working?
- Really? You’re blowing me off?
- You have some nerve.
- I was never really into you anyway.
- You suck.
- I’ve been turned down by uglier people.
- I’ve already moved on to the next man. I’m done with boys so lose my number.
- Your loss.
- I was tipsy when I sent those. Please accept my apology.
- I hate you.
There’s simply no way for the recipient of this avalanche of nonsense to respond, other than to hire bodyguards and adopt a large dog. You’ve convinced this person that you have major issues you need to work out and unless the recipient is going to be paid to help (e.g. your therapist), your contacts will be disregarded. Isn’t it ironic too that the person who follows this progression typically has a stalker ex as well?
Men, you need to be extra careful about this. Do not try to intimidate or guilt any woman into intimacy. There’s no reason to frighten anyone. Remember that anything you send can and will be used against you. Tell her you love her. Tell her you miss her. Tell her to have a nice life. Move on.
My buddies enjoy my angst when I run into a jilted ex.
“Holy shit, dude. What did you do to her?”
“Nothing, damn it. I just stopped calling her.”
“She’s right; you’re an asshole.”
“What? Because of radio silence?”
“Women need closure. You know that. Christ, you write about it.”
“And I also write about how I am the coward who will avoid conflict and confrontation at all costs. That’s why we’re leaving.”
“Don’t be a pussy too.”
“She might be crazy enough to make a scene. I’m not taking any chances. There’s plenty of wine in fairer pastures.”
“Eventually you’ll have exes in every bar. Then what?”
“Soon, old man.”
“Fuck. I’m going to stay home and watch movies.”
“Good plan. Oh, and I’d lock the doors.”
To every ex I’ve ever left, “I’m sorry! Yes, it was you. You didn’t meet my unrealistic expectations. Land Rovers don’t meet my expectations either and they get over it. So should you. Fine. At least leave me alone to disappoint another.”