Day 5: I've still got it!

If you've been reading here long you'll know that, although I'm a single, theoretically available GILF overweight, middle-aged grandmother with 2 dogs and 2 cats who is raising her (adorable) eight-year-old granddaughter, I don't date. Looking at that description, I'll bet you wonder why. You probably think there are so many people lined up on my Tinder account and outside my door that I simply can't choose one or two or even 20 and break all those other hearts. Oh the irony is thick tonight.

If you've been reading here a really long time and you have a really long memory, you'll remember I was going to do a writing project called 10 Dates/10 Men that would require me to .... you guessed it, didn't you? Date 10 different men and write about my experiences. I still think it was a good idea, but after I finished with 1 of 10, I was done. I didn't even want to write about it. Not even after I had to block his number on my phone because he was still texting me over a year after I told him no more. Ugh.

That's not to say I don't get asked out. Why, just the other day I was propositioned asked out in the most unusual way that didn't involve even one swipe. It's such a charming story, I'm going to relate it to you right now.

It all started when I did this stupid thing: I answered the phone. The caller ID said CARDMEMBERSVC. I've been getting lots of calls from debt collectors who are looking for someone who doesn't live here. The law is they have to stop calling if I tell them to, so I thought I'd get rid of at least one of them. Here's how the conversation went.

Steve [in a heavy Indian accent]: Hello, Ma'am. This is Steve from … 

Me: Take this number off your list and don't call it ag…

Steve (firmly): Ma'am. Ma'am, please listen fir… 

Me: Don't call this numb…

Steve (quite firmly): Ma'am. You will listen to m… 

Me: Take this number off your list.

Steve: Ma'am, first you must list… 

Me: Take it off … 

Steve (50 shades of firmly): No, ma'am, you must listen to me. I have to tell you .... 

Me: My number. Don't call it again. 

Steve: But you must listen, ma'am. I have something ....

Me: Don't call my number again.

Steve: Ma'am. Ma'am. MA'AM! You must listen to ...

Me: Stop talking and remove my number from your list. 

Steve: Ma'am, would you like to sex with me? [sic] [sick]

Me: 

Steve: Ma'am, would you? Would you like to sex with me? 

Me: No, I would not. I'd like to kick you in the face though.

Steve: ha ha ha 

Me: But you'd probably like it.

Steve: ha ha ha ha ha

Me: Click.

Sigh. Really, Reticula? Kick him in the face? Oh boy. You really told him off! I mean, yes, I wanted to kick him in the face like a 21st-century Sarah Connors, but that's not clever. It doesn't make a good story. I wish I'd said .... hell, I don't know even now what I wish I'd said to make that mocking asshole Steve feel like I felt when he asked me if I wanted to sex with him. #metoo

Anyway, that's why I don't date. Steve is the one and only reason I don't date. I'll just leave it at that.

What would you have said? If the answer is, "Yes, Steve. Sex me now!" I don't want to know. If the answer is, "Yes, Steve, I'll sex with you if you promise to never call this number again," I don't want to know. If your answer is clever and makes me laugh though, you win a ham sandwich! And I will use your pithy rejoinder the next time I'm stupid enough to answer a number from a collection agency.

Clever retort .... and go!