In Which I Reveal Several Unpleasant Aspects of My Personality

So one of my friends recently reentered the dating pool, and she’s been in the unenviable position of having to tell perfectly nice guys that she’s just not that into them.  And it’s like, “Whatever, boo hoo, you’re pretty and everyone wants to date you, who cares?” but actually?  Telling someone you don’t want to love ‘em and squeeze ‘em and hold ‘em in a kind and respectful way is really quite difficult.  Which is why, I informed her, I’ve never actually done it.

“Just lie,” I advised her.  “Tell ‘em you just got out of something long-term and you’re not ready to date yet.”

“But isn’t there a nice way to just say ‘Thanks but no thanks?’” she asked desperately.

“Probably,” I said, “but it’s easier to just tell him you’re too emotionally fragile to date right now.  I mean, later on when he catches you shamelessly flirting with someone else he’ll be mad and ‘jokingly’ call you a whore, but for now, it’s a viable solution.”

Strangely enough, she’s not listening to me.  I wonder why…

Anyway, I’ve never been very good at communicating disinterest.  Even in those many cases when I haven’t already shoved my tongue in someone’s mouth and then realized I didn’t like it, it’s been hard for me to let a guy know that no, I don’t want his number and actually, I would prefer it if he wouldn’t follow me from room to room at a party.  Apparently, I can either put someone off entirely from the very beginning, or I’m stuck with them for life.  There’s really no in-between for me.  Which is why I’ve given out my number many a time and then never picked up when I didn’t recognize the caller, or taken someone else’s number and then never used it.  When it comes right down to it, I honestly don’t know how to get rid of anyone without ignoring the crap out of them.  It’s my only defense.

Usually, guys give up after the first unreturned call; sometimes, the more intrepid (and socially inept) ones try two times before Getting It.  Eventually, though, they give up, for although I am a lovely woman with manifold charms and a shockingly modest disposition, there are other women out there, and some of them actually answer their phones!  Not many, but some.  Which is why I’m quite satisfied with my method of fobbing off unwanted suitors, and why I see no reason to change it.  And that’s why Greenpeace is really starting to piss me off.

Oh, Greenpeace.  You caught me on the way back from a lunch-time run to Trader Joe’s.  I was even wearing a dress over jeans and using reusable shopping bags; it just like the good old days in Asheville, where I was a conservationist nutjob like everyone else, except that I didn’t smoke weed or even American Spirits.  Anyway, I was there and you were there and it so reminded me of those days when I was a hippie vegetarian and could braid my leg hair that in a moment of insanity, I signed up to donate fifteen dollars a month.

FIFTEEN DOLLARS A MONTH.

Now, that doesn’t sound like much, but over the course of the year it adds right up.  Fine, I thought.  It’s a stupid financial decision, but I said I’d do it, so I’ll do it.  And for months, I did it.  Until a shiny new debit card arrived in the mail, one with a different number on it.  One with a number you didn’t have.  One with a number that set me free.

And look, Greenpeace—I know it wasn’t cool of me.  I know I should have responded to the little email you sent gently informing me that my bank card no longer worked.  I know I should have just said, “I’m sorry, but I’m not able to keep supporting your organization.”  But the thing is, I hate both confrontation and last-ditch, pathetic efforts to separate me from my money.  That operator at Guthy-Renker practically offered me her firstborn when I cancelled my Proactiv, and God knows I don’t want to sit through a repeat performance of THAT.  Also, I’ve found that if you ignore someone long enough, they usually just go away, and take their demands for your attention and your cash with them.  But not you!  Oh, no.  First, there was that email, and then, a few days later, there were two calls in one day, and then there was a call the day after that, and I just ignored yet another two calls this very afternoon!

I’ll give you this much, Greenpeace:  at least you don’t leave creepy, confused voice messages in which you call me “Molly” and ask to hang out at the hookah bar.  You have too much dignity for that, I’m happy to say.  But seriously?  I’m not going to call back, Greenpeace.  I’m not going to give you my new number, my money, or my heart.  This desperate cold-calling is doing nothing but embarrassing us both.  Please, for the sake of your pride, stop.  Find a new ex-hippie to guilt into giving you blood money.  I promise, there are plenty more where I came from.