A few days ago, I started talking to a new guy online. He seemed fairly nice, so I gave him my Google Voice number (lest he be a stalker) and we began a text message conversation. It started as all get-to-know-you conversations go: “What do you do for a living?” “How long have you lived in San Diego?” “What kind of music do you like?”
This evolved into some moderate flirting and then he sent a text that said, “Tell me something crazy about yourself.”
What constitutes crazy? Should I say that I don’t know how to ride a bike? A lot of people find that crazy. Or maybe I should tell him about when I crashed a wedding?
He sent another text telling me something crazy about himself: “I was a stripper in a Milwaukee hotel with a bunch of softball girls.”
Ok, that’s . . . odd. So I tell him about the time I thought I made out with one of the hobbits from The Lord of the Rings in Vegas.
His next text says: “I had a 6 person orgy once.”
Wait, what? Did I just read that correctly? Did he just tell me he had an orgy?
Yes, that’s exactly what he said. He proceeded to send me a few texts about said orgy that made me want to give my phone a shot of penicillin and then asked me to send a “crazy” photo of myself.
Um, no thank you. Apparently my idea of crazy is not quite on a par with his. I think he intended it to be a turn on. (It wasn’t.) I felt perhaps divulging this information to someone he never met might fall into the category of over sharing. And also the category of gross.
After five or six texts begging for a picture of myself in a compromising position, I blocked his number and turned off my phone.
Lesson learned: There are not enough Clorox wipes to make you forget the things you’ve read on your phone.