Note: this post was written on Wednesday night. I withheld it because I knew at the time that I was going to meet with the Mathematician later, and I didn’t want to give him ANY information in advance. I am 95% sure he’s reading the blog.
I’m not going to post all the lurid details. Let’s just say that we met and I made it clear that if any harm comes to me through him in the future–whether tomorrow or ten years from now–there will be consequences.
One psycho down. One to go.
Can I pick em, or can I pick em…?
* * * * *
Oh wow. My 8 readers are going to like this one!
I found a bouquet of roses and an unsigned valentine in front of my door.
Whoever left it there didn’t knock. They just left it.
After staring at it for a minute, I picked it up and brought it inside. Then I started contacting people who I thought might have given it to me.
It didn’t take long. Pretty short list.
Everyone said no.
The creepiness factor in my apartment shot through the roof. I went to my front door and put the security chain on. Then I went to my bedroom and checked the locks on the windows.
Being a woman is no fun sometimes, guys. If you were wondering, let me tell you now: it’s no fun to be weak little prey for whatever comes along.
I was a little afraid to touch the flowers, but I decided to unwrap them. Maybe there was a clue inside. A receipt, a note…
Oh yes, there was something inside the flowers, all right.
Because nothing says, “I love you, Honey!” like ROSES AND A KNIFE.
It was, as I’m sure you can imagine, exactly what I needed for my mental and emotional health this week.
I’m sure he thought he was being honestly romantic. The Surgeon has a flair for showmanship, and something is also screwed up with his “filter.” Put those two together, and you get a man who hides syringes and random medical equipment around your apartment instead of post-its with hearts and smilies on them.
I tell you…can I pick em, or can I pick em?