Mad TV Can I Have Your Number? - Awesome video clips here
This little anecdote goes along with last week's question post.
So anyway, my car battery died Friday, June 26 (thankfully it died in my garage). After returning home from a workshop (a friend came and got me) , I called roadside assitance and the tow truck man came and took me and Black Beauty (my 1997 black Honda Accord aka. my road dog or "ride-or-die-chick") to Wal-Mart's auto repair shop.
While waiting nervously for my car to be fixed (at that point I was still hoping it was just the battery, but B.B's old and it could've been the spark plugs, alternator, whatever...after all, my lights and stereo were still working), I looked up and noticed this dude giving me this "come hither" look---curving index finger and everything!
I looked behind me, and all around me for a few seconds before pointing at myself and saying, "Me?"
He nodded.
Now, I'd seen the man sitting there a few minutes before, but I could've sworn he was gay. He had more of a feminine look: crossed legs with one arm outstretched and said arm's hand perched on one kneecap, pursed lips...stereotypical? Yes, but that's how he looked.
I reluctantly walked over to him and sat down. I smiled and talked to him because I'm a nice person.(And I kept hearing the Essence article, "The Fabulous Single Girl's Summer Dating Guide" advising me not to shut down any guy, even if he's unattractive, because the fine lookin' brotha may be watching. Apparently, the cute guy would feel he had a chance if the unattractive guy looked like he was getting some play. But, once again, I digress.)
We talked for a few minutes...uninteresting conversation. I surmised he was from somewhere in Africa because of his strong accent. (He was from Ghana.) Throughout, I gave clear body language signals: I sat as far away from him on the bench as possible, I gave short answers and didn't ask about him. He didn't get it. Fortunately, his car was fixed soon and he had to go, but before he left, he asked for my number.
Back in the day I would've told him my name was Keisha and given him fake digits, but now dudes are gettin' sharp. He said, "Put my number in your phone, and when you get out the club girl call me up"...LOL! Ok, so he didn't say the last half of that, but he did tell me to call his number so he could have mine.
Damn! Foiled again! I obliged though, just in case Fine Brotha was waitin' in the wings.
He called me the next day. I didn't answer.
Then, he texted me, the same day. I didn't respond.
He has CONTINUOUSLY called and texted me (and I have NEVER responded)...sometimes more than once a day...since that fateful day at Wal-Mart, and he always leaves the same message: "Hi, Still Single. This is Baba*. Call me when you get this. I need to talk to you. All right, bye." (What could he possibly need to talk to me about?)
I'm not trying to be mean, but dude! Get a freakin' clue! STOP CALLING ME!!! See where niceness gets you? And where was Baby after all that? Next time, he better be there and swoop in like Hitch on some hero ish.
I know, I know. I'm being passive aggressive, or doing "the fade" as I heard it called on another blog today. But, I don't owe him a response. We never went out, etc. I just don't like turning people down out loud, to their face. It just makes me feel mean.
Anybody know how to block numbers on Verizon? (OMG! He's calling again!)
*Name has been changed to protect the annoying...it does rhyme with Baba though.
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