The Weed

When last I wrote of "The Dentist", I had given up on him. He was too bizzee drinking and blowing me off to warrant any more of my time or energy. I had weeded him out of my dating garden, tossed him onto my compost heap of rejects, never to think of him again.

But the funny thing about weeds is they keep coming back.

Almost a week after he had blown off our Sunday date, I heard from him. He left a voicemail saying, "You're probably wondering what happened to me...if I fell off the planet or something, but the truth is - I've been a very sick kid. I'm sure you're busy with rehearsals, but call me if you get a chance."

I yanked him out of the soil and flung him aside. (i.e. I did NOT call him)

Two days later he called again. I was out at a going away party for a friend of mine and in the cab ride home, discovered the pesky weed on my voicemail. "Hi Carrie...I'm calling you back again. You must be busy. Please call if you get a chance."

I had my clippers out, poised and ready to obliterate him again, (i.e. delete his voicemail) when - in a moment of mercy, perhaps clouded by the effects of a double pint of Blue Moon - I called him. I got his voice mail and gave that weed one more chance to stay in my garden and perhaps become something more dignified, like a tulip or a nice sturdy shrubbery. "Sorry I haven't called sooner," I said, "but I was quite shocked to hear from you. I had assumed that you just weren't that into me - which is fine, as that can happen. So. I'm calling you back. Hope to hear from you. Bye."

An entire week goes by without a word from him. I calmly walked out to my garden and danced a jig on that weed, trampling him with my garden clogs.

The weed came back.

Last night in the middle of rehearsal, in the form of yet another voice mail. I am typing it word for word:

"So, this is quite possibly the most random phone call you'll receive this evening. I'm sure you thought, 'This guy has totally written me off again', which I didn't. I'm back at work and have joined the world of a productive person and...I had a very interesting encounter with a bicycle as I was jogging along the lake last week. Two broken ribs later, I have just not really been all that psyched to go out or call very many people. So, give me a call if you would like to, if I'm still deemed worthy of such a phone call and let me know how you're doing and what you're up to and if you're still crazy busy. I'm sorry it's been a week. I know that's not acceptable. And I'll just quit rambling now and talk to you later. Maybe. Ok. Bye."

He broke his ribs?! Maybe my metaphoric weed pulling has somehow transferred into an odd sort of telekenesis, much like the Stephen King novel bearing my name?

Alright friends.

My weed whacker is poised and at the ready. Should I use it? Should I end this once and for all? Or do I give him another chance to thrive?

Please advise!