|Are you kidding me?|
Out of the eleven months I've been in his phone, he's only texted me twice, both times being the night he asked for my number. I should've been like the Paul Reiser Show: cancelled after two episodes. For the love of god, delete me already!
Doesn't he go through his phone when he's bored and delete the stragglers? I'm totally a straggler! Hell, I'm Mayor of Stragglerville. He should've given me the boot a long time ago. So, when he asked if I "was around" totally out of the blue the other night, I had to stop and wonder about his phonebook grooming process. Frankly, he should manage his life better i.e. deleting my number if we haven't communicated in six months. I only knew it was him by some fluke because he had a weird area code that I somehow remembered. That was a small miracle in and of itself.
Seeing his phone number pop up on my screen felt like finding a hair in my salad: keep the hair on your head and my phone number out of your contact list. For a second I thought that maybe he mistook me for someone else but I maintain that my number shouldn't have even been in there to allow him to mistake me for someone else in the first place. Weird.