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*ruffles killer's hair* Aw, and you're cute as a button too. Assuming that there is such a thing as a "cute" button. Don't think I've ever seen a particularly cute button, ever. You're as cute as something that's not a button, perhaps, but is definitely cute in a Canadian-accented-straight-boy-with-a-camera-way. But I'm not stalking you, I promise (no energy left over because of my long and fruitless pursuit of Sax).
I did once have a stalker-type person. She even looked a bit like Glenn Close. Unfortunately I was her boss, newly single again and looking for a man to read poetry to me on a dark winter night, you know how it is. She was the friend of a man I really fancied (I didn't know that my last partner had been shagging him behind my back at that point), so I agreed to a few social outings and others just happened anyway through work. She was married to a dull but perfectly serviceable man and had two nice girls but still kept trying to get into my unyielding and unresponsive knickers.
After several "No, I'm a poof" rebuffs, which had always got me off the hook previously with some dignity preserved on both sides, I had exhausted my repertoire of "nice". I was, as I said, working with her, and she was also popping up unexpectedly all over the shop, coincidentally to all appearances.
I began to suspect she was suffering from de Clérambault's syndrome and stopped answering the phone or the door for a while. Rostered her on shifts when I wouldn't be there. Froze her out basically, uncomfortable as it was. She must have come to her senses because, the Summer over, she went off to train as a teacher and I never saw her again. Couple of times we nearly collided on Edinburgh's little social scene but I would manoeuvre my way out of those situations with alacrity.
I'm still not sure, as I wasn't then either, that I wasn't getting a bit carried away with myself and imagining or exaggerating it all but when I examine the unvarnished facts, I just thank the Lord she stopped, and abruptly. It was a weird time of my life. I can see how easily that sort of thing can get out of hand. |
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