The Amazing Weasel Boy

Once a week, for the last three weeks, I've emailed my former Lust Object (now known as "Weasel Boy") asking him to return the Ken Burns' Civil War tapes which he borrowed. He responded to the first email, "Thanks for reminding me. I'll get them to you." The second email didn't generate a response. The third email prompted this: "They're in my car. I'll get them to you."

Today I came home from work and on my voicemail was a message from Weasel Boy saying, "I'd like to drop off those tapes tonight. Give me a call and let me know if you'll be home after six." So I called and told him I would be here. He said, "Okay. I'll be there after six and drop off those tapes." He actually used an emphasis on those words when he spoke them. Gosh-- is he trying to let me know that he'll be dropping off the tapes and that he won't be staying for a visit?

Okay, okay-- I get it. Jesus Christ, Weasel Boy.

So, I've gotten into the spirit of all the dropping off that's going on around here today. I want to make sure he understands that I understand he doesn't want to see me, nor do I want to see him (because I'm not convinced he realizes this). I shall leave a note on the front door that says, "Weasel Boy, please leave the tapes in the stairwell and shut the door when you leave. Thank you."

Just another "getting-the-upper-hand-and-trying-to-outsmart-the-other-person-and-show-this-guy-that-I'm-a-okay-without-him" joust.

I hate participating in this kind of crap. I wish I didn't care about him, but he doesn't need to know I do.

And truthfully? I really don't want to see him.