So the other day I’m in a bar and I run into a student from a Pilates class I used to teach. We have a nice catchup and he asks for my number. Without much thought I give it to him – not cause I want to see him again unless it’s at a pilates class – I guess I was just being polite. Exactly one week later I get a mysterious call from a private number. No-one says anything so after a few ‘hello?’ … ‘hellooo???’ s I hang up. The next morning my phone rings and it’s a private number again.
‘Hello?’ I ask
‘Hello’ says a young sounding Japanese voice. ‘Who is this?’
‘Ah, who is this??’ I reply.
‘It’s Mika.’
‘I think you have the wrong number,’ Not knowing a Mika. ‘Who are you looking for?’
‘Ah, Isabelle?’
‘Sorry, you have the wrong number.’ I say. And I hang up.
A few hours later the private number appears for third time.
‘Hello…’ I answer.
‘Hello. I called before.’
‘I’m actually wondering what your relationship is with Chris?’ she says, in a gentle yet slightly accusingly tone of voice.
‘Ah, Chris who?’ I ask.
‘Chris Keats.’
‘Sorry, I don’t know a Chris Keats.’ I say honestly.
‘You didn’t meet him on Thursday night?’
Trying to remember what happened on Thursday I say, ‘Ah, no, I don’t think so. What was Thursday night?’
‘I have messages from you on his phone.’
‘Chris Michaels?’ I ask, that’s the only Chris I know. Then it dawns on me. Last Thursday night I was at the bar in Manly.
‘Oh I know, I think you are talking about the Chris I teach Pilates to.’
‘Teach Pilates to?’
‘Well, I used to. Then I went overseas. I ran into Chris in Wharf Bar last Thursday.’ Suddenly I remember our texts.
Realising what was going on – why this chick was calling me, I continue, ‘He asked if I wanted to have dinner with him but I said no.’ Then softly, I ask, ‘Are you his girlfriend?’
‘That’s shit! Guys are fucked.’ I really hit the fan. ‘I’m really sorry. Nothing happened on the night, we just talked. And I don’t want to see him or anything. But that’s really shit that he did that to you.’
‘It’s ok, I’m going to leave him anyway. I just wanted to know.’
‘Well I hope things work out for you.’ And with that I hang up.

Like the equator monument in Ecuador that was built a few hundred meters off the equator, men (and women) like this get a big thumbs down.

Note: this story came from my random writings from 2009 and names have been changed.