The (Almost) Forgotten Rejection

A short-but-sweet story of rejection and flesh-eating insects.  I met a guy about 10 years ago at a party somewhere in Atlanta in the dankest heat of the summer, so it must've been July or August.  The house was in the Virginia Highlands area and the owner had apparently never heard of citronella candles.  That was the moment I learned (even though I am a native and should know better anyway) to always carry some kind of bug repellent in my bag when I go out if I don't want to look like I've had an outbreak of chicken pox the next day or worse, expose myself to West Nile virus. Stupid mosquitoes.  He was kinda cute and I remember sitting on the host's porch, slapping mosquitoes on my arm and drinking sangria with him for a while.  We exchanged email addresses but not phone numbers for some reason.

He emailed me first thing the following Monday morning and we exchanged a few emails back-and-forth.  I kept waiting for him to ask for my number or something but he didn't.  The emails got progressively longer as we continued our chatting and I came home one day that week to an email that read "No thanks, I'm done.  You talk too much."  Rejection is a regular part of career dating but even I have only heard that line once.  Most guys just fade away when they aren't interested and, honestly, that's completely fine by me.  I don't need to have every personality flaw pointed out when a guy is telling me he won't be calling me again. No need to add insult to injury.  Of course I thought it was incredibly rude, I still do, but I have to give the man props for backing out the minute he recognized a vital compatibility error. I really do talk a lot.  Of course, now I think it's kind of funny and he hadn't even crossed my mind in years until the subject came up at a friend's house tonight.  I can't even remember his name.  I've always imagined he joined a monastery in Australia and took a vow of silence.