You may have noticed I really haven't followed through with my plan to go on 10 Dates with 10 Men™. I have reasons -- good reasons -- and pretty soon I'm going to share those reasons, and probably bow out of the whole thing entirely. For reasons.
One of those reasons is the ridiculous shit that happens after I date a guy. I'll go into that too, but for now, I'm sticking with what I learned tonight.
I was here at home enjoying a lovely evening with my 2-year-old granddaughter Coraline when my phone announced a text message. Probably Elvira, wondering when I'm bringing Coraline home, I thought. I checked.
Nope, not my daughter. Instead it was 1 of 10, whom I will be writing about in more detail soon, and it won't be flattering. I told him I didn't want to see him any more over a year ago, but he has never stopped testing texting me, trying to get me into a conversation or to meet him somewhere.
My friend Alex told me I should never ever answer him, and if I did I was showing my intention to continue a relationship with him. So I haven't. For over a year, I haven't answered his texts. I don't know how many texts he's sent. I really don't care. I find them intrusive and pathetic, but I refuse to engage.
Tonight's two texts read, "Heading to [a local bar we met at one time]. Need to kiss your cheek .... gently." .... "Actually I meant your supple lips ..." Nice way to intrude on a lovely evening with my granddaughter, asshole.
I was pissed. When I took Coraline home, I showed the texts to Elvira and her fiance Rock Dad. Their friend Stu was there, so I read them to him too.
After Elvira and Rock Dad responded with the appropriate laughter and disgust, Stu said, "I guess you could consider yourself lucky."
"Lucky?" I said. "I don't call it lucky that I can't get rid of guys I don't want to date, but the ones I'd like to date don't stick around."
"To be fair," Elvira shot in, "you don't want to date anybody."
"Not anybody I've met ... yet," I said.
"No, really," Stu said. "At least he didn't trace his dick on a piece of paper and send that to you."
"What? What?" I said. "Why would he do that?"
"Because that's what guys in prison send to women," he explained. "They send drawings. You could have gotten one of those."
"Well, I thank you for putting this into perspective for me, Stu," I said. "Instead of reacting with utter disdain that this asshole won't leave me alone after over a year, I'll be grateful he isn't sending me prison drawings of his dick like kindergarten hand prints."
"Yeah, Mommers, he's right," Elvira said. "Unless you're getting dick tracings, you've got nothing to be upset about."
"Dick Tracings!" I laughed. "That's a good one!"
They all looked back at me with blank faces.
"Dick Tracings .... like Dick Tracy," I explained, still laughing. "Didn't you do that on purpose?"
"Well .... yeah. Because it's a thing. I didn't make that up. Dick Tracys are a thing," she said. "I'm not being clever."
So now I know: dick tracings are a thing called Dick Tracys. Did you know that? Surely I'm not the last to know. Tell me this is news to you.
When I got home, I googled it. Nothing came up for "dick tracings." At least nothing about guys tracing around their penises and then sending a photo of the drawing to women. But Urban Dictionary did show an entry for "Dick Tracy" that defined it as follows: "What to call yourself when you are tracing your own penis. Your roommate, Trent: "Dude!!!! What in the fuck are you doing?!!? In MY room?!? Naked?!?! With MY markers and construction paper?!?!?"
You: "Shhhh...this is some Dick Tracy shit... calm down Trent."
The only other entry was about a teacher who got in trouble for offering to trace his penis for a couple of students. Trust me. That's not a thing.
You'd think if this dick tracing really was a thing Google would know more about it than Stu, wouldn't you?
I guess I'm grateful for my kids for putting things into perspective. I'll write more about 1 of 10 soon, and put these texts into perspective for you the best I can. Unfortunately, his texts are just one more example of the kind of inexplicable, unpleasant behavior I inspire in some people. Lucky me. I'm afraid that too has become a thing.
Have you ever sent or received a Dick Tracy? Anonymity guaranteed!
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