Noble Maloof, My Stalker
So, I thought my adventures with Maloof were about over when he asked for my name and told me about kidneys on the bus a few weeks ago. But I was wrong. Very wrong. Even if I had forgotten about Noble Maloof, Noble Maloof had not forgotten about me. Far from it.
This morning he chased me into a city building and mumbled out a greeting and then said, "I thought you'd given up on me." "Given up on you?" I said, "Why?" "Well, he said,"because I looked up your name in the phone directory and I couldn't find you. In fact they told me there was no 'Sarah Hoagland' in Cleveland." "Oh," I said. "I thought you'd given me a false name," he said mournfully. "Did you?" I asked and then added, "I'm not listed because I have no phone." (which, is kinda true, you understand) "No phone??" he asked. "Yes," I said. I was beginning to get a queer feeling about this old gent. "You see, I wanted to call you," he said looking pleadingly in my eyes. "Did you?" I answered, "What about?" "I wanted to show you some of my paintings," he said. Hehe, can you believe it? A ninety year old geezer wants to "show me his paintings." I supressed a laugh and said, "Oh, how nice." "Let me just give you my number," he said, fumbling in his pocket for a notepad. After scrawling out his number in shaky writing, he handed me the paper and said, "You attract me. I hope you don't mind." "As a friend?" I asked innocently, "of course not!" He looked so pitiful as I pumped his hand in farewell, that I began wondering why on earth this tiny, little, old Brit should think I would want to start something. I later realized that he must have jumped off the bus to follow me since his stop isn't for some miles down the road. Tsk.
Who knows, maybe this time next year my name will have changed to Sarah Maloof. If it does, call the cops...
I mean, I know wolves have kidneys, but are you sure you want them on your paper when hitting on people fifty years younger?
This morning he chased me into a city building and mumbled out a greeting and then said, "I thought you'd given up on me." "Given up on you?" I said, "Why?" "Well, he said,"because I looked up your name in the phone directory and I couldn't find you. In fact they told me there was no 'Sarah Hoagland' in Cleveland." "Oh," I said. "I thought you'd given me a false name," he said mournfully. "Did you?" I asked and then added, "I'm not listed because I have no phone." (which, is kinda true, you understand) "No phone??" he asked. "Yes," I said. I was beginning to get a queer feeling about this old gent. "You see, I wanted to call you," he said looking pleadingly in my eyes. "Did you?" I answered, "What about?" "I wanted to show you some of my paintings," he said. Hehe, can you believe it? A ninety year old geezer wants to "show me his paintings." I supressed a laugh and said, "Oh, how nice." "Let me just give you my number," he said, fumbling in his pocket for a notepad. After scrawling out his number in shaky writing, he handed me the paper and said, "You attract me. I hope you don't mind." "As a friend?" I asked innocently, "of course not!" He looked so pitiful as I pumped his hand in farewell, that I began wondering why on earth this tiny, little, old Brit should think I would want to start something. I later realized that he must have jumped off the bus to follow me since his stop isn't for some miles down the road. Tsk.
Who knows, maybe this time next year my name will have changed to Sarah Maloof. If it does, call the cops...
I mean, I know wolves have kidneys, but are you sure you want them on your paper when hitting on people fifty years younger?
posted by k_sra at 8/13/2004 08:14:00 AM
4 Comments:
So are you going to call him?
Googled for your friend and found an odd public apparent list of thank you notes. And I thought you blogged everything.
The answer to your first question is no.
Oh ROFL. I've so been there. It is not a pleasant place.
K_sra, remind me to tell you about the 70+ italian business owner with whom I "discussed poetry" (and displayed startlingly poor judgment.) He kept touching my thigh and telling me that my fields needed to be cultivated. Goat! I put up with it politely for too long and his son (a friend of mine) became upset. He was convinced that I was trying to break up his parents' marriage. (Silly man! Italian marriages don't break up over infidelity!)
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