So, I read The Gift of Fear. I believe that you should not engage with craziness. I believe that attention seekers and drama queens will quickly learn to move along if you don't give them the attention they want. On a normal day at least.
The day of the naked texts was not normal. It was the second day of bleeding. The day the doctor's office was to have blood result that would show if I could possibly still be pregnant. I was a wreck of boogers and tears.
That was the state in which I discovered a new text message on my phone. It was from a local number that I didn't know. I opened it to find five photos of good old fashioned home porn. Some guy naked, then naked reclining on a couch, then close up on the junk, then seated, then fully clothed and standing by a grill (wtf?).
My mental state was fragile and I did not recognize this person but I was pissed. I sent back a short reply calling him a fucking asshole. He wrote back, "Who is this?"
Shouldn't you know who you are texting? Maybe double check the number? These were the things I thought to myself but didn't type. I realized that engaging this genius in a conversation was a bad idea so I didn't reply. That night I missed a call from the same number.
I tried to think like the caller/texter. Obviously, he did not intend to send those pictures to me. He probably got my nasty reply and then wondered if he dialed correctly, so he called and hung up when my voice kicked in on the message. I felt assured that I had figured it out. Now he had figured out it wasn't me he was looking for and would never call again. He was probably so embarrassed. At least that's what I thought.
Two weeks have passed and he called my phone tonight. No message left. That bothers me. A lot.
