The agony of a boring stalker

We are all frozen in this little corner of the world.

The avian friends are limiting their conflict to sunlight hours. The bunnies are not happy. I have moved all the lettuce plants to the kitchen so now I am only getting accusatory stares and no longer have to run outside in my pajamas to chase them from the vegetable garden. Even the frogs and the spiders are quiet. The owls, Clive and his family, are back. Happy days. However, their stoic refusal to get involved in the goose fight, is slightly disappointing. I thought their beautiful imposing presence would solve the problem but somehow they only sit in the pine tree and look, somewhat amused at the WWF-inspired avian wrestling matches.

One small thing that did happen this week is that my stalker is back.

Now I am one of those people who always feel slightly left out when it comes to criminal fads. Nobody ever tried to spike my drink. Nobody even cloned my Facebook profile. I had a stalker once for about a week in my twenties who sent me bouqets of flowers, choclates and invitations to the opera - until his ego got in the way and he announced himself. 

 

And now, it turns out, while nearing 40, I finally got a stalker again. Cue evil laugh here.

 

Unfortunately he is very much middle aged and way too short to be considered tall, dark and dangerous and even drives a dull car. I am sure, I have to say in his defence, that I am sure he will be a perfect spouse for someone but not for me.

 

I have a feeling that he might be a transvestite as the only thing he ever comments is that I have washing on the line. It is possible to see my washing on the line but I don't hang frilly bras and lacy undies there, I hang those out of sight - unless the wind accidentally blows them all over the yard.

Yes, I did actually have a date with this man once. And yes, confession time I faked a breaking news story to leave after 30 minutes because frankly his company was so dull that it was unbearable.

 

Now if I was a stalker, I would go to all sorts of lengths to hide my identity and use unknown numbers and those 10 minute emails that I could stay anonymous, but mine smsses from his official phone, I would wear the subject of my affections down with presents, and beautiful love letters and joyfully funny smsses. What I am getting are smsses about the state of my laundry every month or two - he is not a particularly enthusiastic stalker.

 

I don't mind really as the smsses usually say: I drove past your house and saw you had washing on the line. Glad to see you are home. 

Have been tempted to reply: Am not home at all but please don't steal the Princess Tam Tam underwear as really like those - but I restrain myself thinking that he will get tired soon and go away or send OMO and Sta-Soft.