Stage 2 - Anger

Fucking numbnuts (I think it's a good sign that we've gone from "dude" to "fucking numbnuts") finally sends me an email allegedly from Montreal, where another ones of his alleged sisters is allegedly getting married. Who does he think I am? His little late-night conversational bimbo? He was drunk and I may have been a little under the influence (thanks, girls!) but he STILL had no explanation for his appalling behaviour. Doesn't thing it worthy of an explanation! Talk about channeling Fairycakes - they both have such a capacity for avoidance - maybe it's the age? Is that something mummy taught you growing up a half a generation ago?

Either way it was pretty effing annoying when, after I asked if he ever planned on showing up, he said... wait wait, let me quote him exactly:

Speaking of which (how's that for a segue), I want to see a pic of you (not just your face). I assume you have a camera or a cell which takes pics. Send me one, now, via godiwouldlovetoputinyouremailaddy@yahoo.com

Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiight. It's 2 in the morning, I'll get right on that. Perhaps you'd like me to take off a few layers first, bare some skin, talk dirty to you? Sheesh.

Perhaps I should put in his actual email address and you could send your comments directly to him. Now THAT would be amusing.