Taking another stroll down the memory lane of past relationships mentioned in the last post, I remembered another really funny one.  We’ll call her “Sybil.”

     Sybil didn’t do much outside of college.  She hung around in the neighborhood talking to people most of the time.  That’s pretty much how we met, and became pretty good friends.
     The “we’re dating” thing came about after one of those uncomfortable conversations that most men try and avoid — all the “We need to talk.  What are we doing?  Where is this going?” bits which establish a plan and timeframe that didn’t need to be established since the obvious answer was, “We’re hanging out and having a good time, why do you have to ruin it with stupid questions?”
     But I digress…

     Eventually, I tired of those continual questions.  They become overly taxing, and every word said and gesture made was put under her microscope.
     “What did you mean when you said hello?  Was that a ‘Hi, nice to see you,’ or ‘Hello!  I’ve suddenly realized I’m madly in love with you and we need to get married!’ sort of Hello?  Because it certainly seems like….”
     *shaking my head in recollection*
     Well, needless to say, I made a hasty retreat after a weekend when I learned that she wanted me to meet her parents and sit with her and her mother to plan a wedding I didn’t even know about.

     I was forthright with her.  I just told her flat, “We’re looking for two different things, and I think it’s best that we just stop hanging around together.”
     She took it surprisingly well, too.

     A few days later, very much to my surprise, several people congratulated me on my nuptuals.  A newspaper ad clearly stated that Sybil and I were to be wed.
     Angry, I called her to ask what the Hell that was about.  She had no idea, and was very sure that it was just a harmless prank by someone we knew.

     When showing up at a local hangout, I was greeted by a nervous bartender, a friend, telling me, “Your fiancé is looking for you, and really angry that she can’t find you.  She told me you were supposed to go and pick out a ring, but you stood her up.”
     I decided not to hang around, and opted another place, but found she’d been there, too, spouting a similar story.
     And the next place…
     And the next place…
     And … well, you get the idea.

     At home, there were twenty messages from Sybil, alternately spewing hatred and outright vulgarity, and the next professing her love and devotion with an apology.  It was like two different people, apologizing for one another.

     The next day was much the same, but the vulgarity became threats and the devotion became worship.

     By the end of the week, I had had more than enough.  I finally gave in and called her back with a time and place to meet and talk this thing through.  Enough was enough, after all.  The most neutral ground we could find was a local bar where everyone knew both of us.
     I sat at the table, and calmly stated that we weren’t dating, I was not a fiancé and certainly had no intention of getting married.  Strangely, she agreed.
     Little by little, the Evil Twin became more and animated and outspoken, interspersed with the a perfecly reasonable and apologetic Good Twin, apologizing and assuring me, “I don’t know where that came from!”
     Eventually, the Evil Twin started to sound more and more like Captain Howdy from The Exorcist, complete with flying objects. She ended up throwing glassware and silverware at me, and then acting like nothing had happened.  After she picked up a chair and knocked a mounted TV off of its perch, she was forcibly removed from the establishment by local Police.
     The display had steadily drawn a crowd, as well, who watched with keen interest.  I received many compliments (and free drinks) from those impressed with how I’d handled myself through the ordeal.

     I never heard from her after that.  It’s a good thing, too, as I probably would’ve been dodging more than bar glasses, ashtrays, silverware and chairs the next time.