Deleted

I was driving home from summer vacation when my cell phone made the distinctive sound indicating a test message had been received:

"Cathy - How R U?"

It was from a NH number I did not recognize. I texted back "Great! Who is this?"

I got no reply so I called and discovered it was one of the many enumerated in this blog. Someone I had dated a few times and then cut it off, much to this gentleman's chagrin.

The phone was answered. "Hi, it's Mike. You've obviously deleted me from your cell phone."

I tried to lie. New phone, failure to port over information in its entirety, I knew it was you, just joshing with you, ha ha. He wasn't buying it.

I asked him why he called and he would not fess up. "Nope - you deleted me. Never mind."

Now keep in mind that I told this guy about a year ago that I wasn't interested. I have run into him several times since but have kept a friendly distance.

So the question is - how long does etiquette dictate you keep someone, anyone, in your speed dial list?

I honestly have names in my cell phone that I cannot recognize. Then there are those I would not call if my hair was on fire. Craig - who the fuck was that? Dan. Dan who? Shit, what if one day I get a text message from Craig OR Dan. Or Craig AND Dan. How would I answer the phone? And once I delete them, am I required to somehow remember every number I ever dialed?

Then I got a call from Frank. He proudly announced that he has now put me on speed dial - #2 on his phone, right behind "911." I did not share with him that he is #85 on my phone, assuming I even KNEW how to USE speed dial (which I do not). He thinks we have reached the stage of our relationship where he can a) put me on speed dial and b) call me after 9pm. This news broke at 8:58pm, apparently a preemptive strike in case I countered that we were NOT at that stage, that he needed to remove me from speed dial and never call beyond 8:59pm.

This reminds me of the Seinfeld episode (what doesn't remind me of a Seinfeld episode) where Jerry discovers he is on his new girlfriend's speed dial list and becomes obsessed with becoming #1.

Of course, I am thinking that if I am, after only a few weeks, already #2, right behind emergency 911, that there must not have been many other contenders. I mean, I would have to delete a LOT of people - friends, family, co-workers and yes, previous boyfriends, to even get him in the top 20.

So is this a sweet thought on his part or pathetic indication that this guy has no friends? You decide. Or maybe he is more decisive about who gets deleted when.

Meanwhile, speaking of pathetic, I seem to have trouble hanging out with someone with manners.

Take our last date. We went out to dinner at a fancy restaurant. The waiter brought us to our table. I promptly plunked my butt down on the one with the best view and looked quizzically at Frank who remained standing at the second chair. After clearing his throat a few times I realized he was holding out the chair, as if he was with, say, a lady. A lady who would wait for someone to offer a seat and pull out the chair!

Blimey, Capt'n! I'm but a simple street urchin, sellin' flowers. Oh! Wouldn't it be loverly?

So what on EARTH has happened to me that this basic courtesy is so foreign, that he might as well have uttered it in Sanskrit.

I am also flummoxed by his insistence on opening doors for me. I pop out of the car like a jack-in-the-box, ready to flee as if the vehicle is on fire. After doing so 3-4 times in one day, Frank gamely trotted around to my side of the vehicle and, quick as a bunny, shut the door before I swung my legs out. "What's the hurry, honey?" he intoned in that sweet Texas accent as he politely opened the door for me.

I'd like to blame my ex-husband for my being conditioned to not expect this type of chivalrous behaviour, but I fear it goes back much further. I remember my parents fighting on a similar topic. "You never open doors for me!" my mother yelled. "How can I ... you're always 10 steps ahead of me!" my father replied. I like to think we make our own destiny, and to blame an ex or our parents is a cop out.

Someday, I hope I can learn to delete the past, as easily as deleting those forgotten names from my cell phone.