Full disclosure – I went on Ashley Madison to see what kind of men were on there. Apparently, not the kind I should be hanging out with. No, I did not hook up with a married man. Yes, I did meet a single man who is in town every second week on business. No, it did not work out.
So, while Ashley Madison man is sitting on my couch telling me that he hopes we can be friends, I get a couple of texts. But being riveted with the shit-show that is unfolding in front of me, I resist the urge to see who the texts are from and what they want. I should have went with my gut as it turned out Mata Hari was texting me, and it would have been way, way more fun to hang out with than this asshole.
Here’s how it goes down:
AM Man: So, I’d like to be friends with you.
Me: WTF? (This is our third date – I actually made an effort tonight and cooked him dinner. Anyone who knows me well knows this never happens).
AM Man: Well, on a scale of one to 10 on the gregarious scale, I’m normally a five, but with you I’m a two or a three.
Me: What does that mean? (but inside I’m screaming WTF!!! Alarm bells, alarm bells! Crazy man!)
AM Man (as he is kissing me and running his hands all over my body): Well, I don’t feel like I can be myself with you, but you are beautiful and hot and you are a great kisser blah blah blah. (Then proceeds to do deep staring into my eyes, apparently doing the tortured soul thing).
Me: Well then, I have nothing to add to this. (I actually had a lot to add to this, but it didn’t seem anything worthwhile on my part to even go there).
Me: So, well, see you later.
AM Man: (Deep Hug) Good night. Dinner was delicious. Thank you. I’m really glad we can be friends.
Me: Good night. (But actually thinking – get the fuck out of my house please, you asshole, and you are never going to be my friend after that conversation.)
Me: (Door shut, delete him from BBM)
So, I go look at my phone and I see it is a text from Mata Hari:
“You would not believe the night I am having. It’s blowing my mind. My jaw is wide open in shock.”
I laughed out loud. Mata Hari is my kind of woman. And when she texts something like that, you know some really interesting shit is going down.
So I call her to find out what’s up. And yes, there is seriously hilarious shit going down for her, but not my story to tell. (As an aside, it seems Mata Hari and I have amazingly entertaining lives compared to most other women our respective ages). Anyway, despite what’s got her attention on her end, (and this is why I love Mata Hari – even though she is having a completely f”””ked up night, she listens to my tale of man woe and had this to say):
“Well, clearly he is crazy.”
I bow down to her!