Every Breath You Take

Scary week. After the date from Hell, I assumed I'd never hear from The Undertaker again; yet, a black Towncar was parked diagonally across the street on five of the last seven nights. It's too dark to see if anyone is sitting inside. I also received many hang-up calls this week. My caller i.d. registers the numbers as "unavailable." He is out there again tonight...almost midnight...just sitting there, no lights on.

At 6'3", I consider myself a big person, so this sort of thing shouldn't faze me, but it does. As a female, it really does. The old unflappable me would go across the street, pull the Undertaker out of the Towncar and kick his ass. Then I'd have a beer. Or two or three. But the present me is afraid of the wee Undertaker in his big black car. Intellectually, I just don't get it. I am flooded with new, unfamiliar feelings. I am troubled by these changes in my emotions and my lack of fortitude.

So this is how it is for women...to feel afraid of the potential backlash caused by dissing some jerk on a bad date. Perhaps The Undertaker feels deceived for, surely, after our encounter at Seven Stars, he must know.....

OK, so maybe he is angry, but I did nothing wrong. What exactly--I mean, how much--do I have to disclose before I go out on a date with a man? Long before we went to Seven Stars, he saw me in the parking lot at Acme, went out of his way to rescue my shopping cart and pester me for my telephone number. That doesn't happen to me very often. (Actually, it has never happened.) Yes, I was uncertain but flattered too, so I figured why not. I really didn't think he would call. But he did. Over and over. A more seasoned woman would have realized that such a relentless caller has stalker potential, but I am new at this game.

I don't know what to do. Fist fights are so behind me. The desire for a brawl is only a distant memory. I want to, but I don't want to. I want to, but I just can't.