(This is a follow-up to this post.)
It's been confirmed: I'm not special. Pavel the Lover loves everyone.
The Torontoist has been tracking his "career." He's the protege of the infamous Dmitri the Lover, the scum bag whose answering-machine message brought him international attention of the most unflattering nature.
Pavel has a new email address. A new card. But it's the same story. I'm just thankful Pavel didn't whip out his phone, as he is prone to do. Violence would have ensued. And I'm not sure if I'm cut out for prison life.
I should write a "what not to do" guide for guys. Business cards offering sexual satisfaction would be mentioned in chapter six. Passive-aggressive defensiveness would be listed in chapter four. Assessing a girl's singleness by randomly asking, "So how's it going with that guy?" would be in chapter two. The silent treatment would be a blank chapter in the middle. Asking a stranger if she has a boyfriend in the loudest possible voice on the bus would be in the introduction. Running across the street to declare your baby-making intentions would be the final chapter. And arbitrarily accusing an old friend of having a George Clooney obsession would make for a lovely epilogue.
Sigh. I guess I just need to accept my irresistibleness.