Saran Wrap should be clingy, not boys


I decided to at least meet Mr. Port Authority when I came back home to DC. To assuage the fears of my friends who thought he was a stalker, I picked a public place in the middle of the day. When he walked up to me, I was surprised that he was even more attractive in person. Mr. Port Authority also had a calm air about him. We grabbed coffee and then the following day, we went to a café. As I had thought, he was more lonely than psycho.

He started talking a lot about how he enjoys the “simple pleasures” in life. I’m all for that, but after a few hours with him, I realized that “simple pleasures” was his code for “I don’t have much money and can’t pay for anything.” I’m fine with paying my own way for things or sticking to casual get-togethers, but there is a limit.

Mr. Port Authority called me two nights after we went to the café. I had been sick all day and was just starting to feel better. He mentioned coming over with a DVD and taking care of me. He seemed sincere so I said sure.

“What do you have for dinner?” he inquired.

“Umm…nothing. I’m barely keeping crackers down so I’m not that hungry,” I replied.

“What if we order a pizza?” he asked.

“I’m not going to eat any, but you can order whatever you want,” I said.

“Well, I was thinking that since I’m coming over, you would order the pizza,” he commented.

“Wait a minute. You want me to pay for your pizza?” I realized.

“Well, if it’s such a big deal, you don’t have to, but I thought that would be nice of you,” he stated.

From that moment forward, Mr. Port Authority became Mr. Pizza. Seriously, you can’t even afford your own pizza? How old are you? I called in the pizza order, and yes, sucker that I am, I paid for it. An hour and a half later, he finally came over. By that point, I just wanted to go to sleep.

He rented some movie that I totally wasn’t interested in so I tried to fall asleep on the couch. As I was starting to drift off, his chewing woke me up. It was like being in a barn with a horse during feeding time. But louder. I looked over at him eating at the table and noticed that there was food falling out of his mouth and crumbs falling onto the floor. (For those of you who don’t know me or haven’t been to my house, I am one of those people who likes her place to be impeccably neat. I drop stuff on the floor, too, but then I clean it up immediately.) Mr. Pizza, by contrast, didn’t even notice what he was doing and just kept shoveling more slices into his mouth. I was thoroughly disgusted.

He ended up spending the night. Mr. Pizza was like a little lost puppy. He was completely respectful and just wanted to be held. A week later, he asked if he could come over to watch a movie and spend the night since he had a doctor’s appointment in the morning near my condo. That was fine or so I thought.

He came over with all this equipment for sleep apnea, which he didn’t have with him the previous week. Mr. Pizza also used several alarms in the morning, which he neglected to mention as we were going to sleep. I awoke to his watch alarm ringing in my ear and then he rolled over and accidentally clocked me in the head. As I was holding my head in pain, his iPod alarm went off loudly. (I like quiet almost as much as I like cleanliness.) Without saying anything, I knew that I would never have him spend the night again.

In the morning, he was off to consult with a doctor about surgery to improve his snoring.

“So, are you coming with me?” he asked.

“Where?” I questioned.

“To the doctor’s office. Don’t you want to go with me?” he inquired.

“No. I don’t.” I replied. Seriously? I barely know you. Why would I want to go into a surgical consult with someone I haven’t even kissed.

The little lost puppy image that I had for him was soon replaced by an image of Saran Wrap. There is clingy and there is clingy. Mr. Pizza was the latter. He wanted to spend his birthday a week later with me, and kept calling and IM-ing me to remind me that his birthday was coming up. I said that we could meet for lunch for his birthday. You might be wondering why I would even be willing to do that. Well, I didn’t want him to be alone, but I also didn’t want to celebrate in a way that made it seem as though we were a couple.

On the morning of his birthday, I texted him and told him to let me know when we could meet for lunch. He called a couple hours later to say that he was at the doctor’s and thought that we could get together in the evening. He insisted that he had no time available during the day, even though he had said earlier in the week that he could meet for lunch. I told him that I had plans later and wished him a Happy Birthday. I didn’t mean to be cold, but I really couldn’t take another night with him.

The following week, he called me again the night before his surgery. I knew what he wanted (to spend the night and have me take him to the hospital) so I just let it go to voicemail. Mr. Pizza kept contacting me to give me the play-by-play of his recovery. I tried to keep our communication brief since I wanted to hear that he was recouping well, but didn’t want him to read too much into it. A few weeks later, he asked what went wrong with us.

“Well,” I wrote in an IM, “I think we’re just different people. Does that make sense to you?”

“Not really. Can you elaborate?” he asked.

“I guess that I am pretty independent and feel more comfortable with a guy who’s the same way.” I said.

“So, I just wanted too much City Girl time?” he inquired.

“Yeah, I guess that’s it,” I responded. What else was there to say? I felt bad enough for him that I didn’t want to say, “You’re messy, loud, needy, looking for a Sugar Mama, and annoy the crap out of me.” Game over, Mr. Pizza. Thanks for playing.

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