Monday, November 21

day 10581: ma chere ami

Par chance, mon ami when you called the first time, it really was a wrong number. I gave you the benefit of the doubt, told you ever-so-nicely that you had erroneously called me instead of your amie, and politely sent you on your merry-yet-clueless way.

Perhaps you didn’t understand what I was saying. English, we both know, is not your native tongue. But you sounded so jovial and well, hell, anyone can make a mistake, so I forgave you. I put you out of my mind. I do that with wrong numbers. I didn’t even think of you after I hung up.

When you called me again, I was the epitome of patience. I told you again that the number you dialed was incorrect. There was no such person at this number. You apologized. Again, I politely sent you on your merry-yet-clueless way.

Somewhere along the line, it must have happened. Please don’t blame me, mon ami. I didn’t mean for it to happen like this. I didn’t ask for it. I didn’t want it. I have a boy that I really, really like, and if he should find out about this, I really wouldn’t know what he would do. I really don’t know how to deal with it. I don’t know what to say to you.

You see, mon ami, somewhere along the line, you must have fallen in love with me. How else do you explain the “wrong numbers” and the “hang ups?” Admit it, you just want to hear the sound of my voice. I question this; the shrill sound of an irritated me repeatedly saying “Hello? Hello?” must get annoying after a while. You must really love me, otherwise, why would you listen to me saying “Who is this?” a few hundred thousand times before you hang up on me.

Be brave, mon ami, and freely admit your love. There is no harm in telling me. At least this way, it will be out in the open, and we can deal with this head on. We can face this issue and deal with the future (albeit definitely NOT together). That way when you call me every few minutes only to hang up or to tell me that “this isn’t my number” I can say something other than “Hello? Who IS this?” Honey, I know this isn’t your number. It’s MY number. And you’re using it a little too freely… I know I have an amazing phone plan, but, Sweetie, you’re still eating up my daytime minutes.

Please stop calling. I know I have the choice not to pick up when I see your number flash before me on my caller ID, but I’ve always been one to hate calling my voicemail, especially when I know who it is. I really don’t want to listen to endless minutes of you asking for your amie – you’re just teasing me then.

I know I’ve broken your heart, but I never want to hear from you again. You’ll just have to come to terms with the fact that we are but two souls destined to be apart forever. We shared a second (or a FEW seconds), but we can never be together. Be strong, mon ami. Be strong and put the phone back down.

Don't worry about me. I'll cope somehow.

Yours never,


(ps. Before you jump to any conclusions, I really am a reasonably good conversationalist. I can hold my own in almost every subject-matter. Well, except maybe nuclear physics, thermodynamics, and oh, Canadian politics (who in the heck wants to read up on THAT?). But that really is beside the point. PLEASE. STOP. CALLING.)

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