duck-shaped pain

I dealt with it, the best I would. Ignoring him didn't work. Neither did the pepper spray. At one point, figured I was doomed to have a scary presidential admirer for the rest of my life, and decided to get on with my life.

Then the notes started.

Taped to my car window, every morning, they got progressively weirder and weirder.

"HEY HONEY, DON'T PANIC OR NOTHING, I JUST WANT TO GIVE YOU THAT CELEBRITY ROAST PROMISED YOU -- BRING THE CIGARS! LOVE LYNDON."

"MILK TURNS INTO ICE CREAM WHEN YOU GIVE IT SOME LOVIN'! JUST A HINT FROM YOU KNOW WHO"

Eventually, it went too far. He was starting to call me at work, and my inbox was full of scrawled messages. The Employer, who never minds personal phone calls, took me aside for something he termed "a little chat."

"Listen," he said, "please tell your 'friend' to stop calling. It's really messing me up -- the incoherent ranting, followed by the pitiful pleading, all in that incoherent Texas accent�it's just gotta stop!"

And with that, I go on vacation. See you next week.

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