Busted

So yes, he did call me. Finally. Geez. Anyway, he called me, and we were chatting and then he mentioned in passing some fashion show I was in during college. I never told him I was in that fashion show; in fact, I'm incredibly embarrassed I was in it and try my best to hide that part of my past. It was a traditional Yellow fashion show. It wasn't my culture I was embarrased about--just my outfit: an unflattering, fluttery, bright abomination of Yellow culture.

As I shuddered from the mortifying memory of my costume, the question suddenly occurred to me. "How did you know I was in that show?" I asked.

"Oh. I saw it on your college website's news archives."

I gasped. I remembered the article well. There embedded among the stilted text was a picture of me, half smiling, cheeks pudgy from my well-earned freshmen fifteen, wearing what could only be described as a Yellow muu muu. I recoiled in horror. He had seen me at my worst and read about it. "Wait a second." I thought about it. "Did you google me?"

"Uh. Yeah."

I gasped again. He GOOGLED me, folks! I felt so e-violated. Yes, more so because he had read the article on my fashion show and also saw a horrid picture of me. But also. I was googled! Googled against my will!

"Stalker!" I gasped, laughing.

"What?" he said innocently. "You've never googled me?"

"No!" I exclaimed.

"I'm hurt," he said woundedly.

"Whatevs, stalker."

In case the reader can't tell, I'm half kidding. I mean, okay, I was a bit freaked out that he googled me, saw me at my lowest moment, and openly told me about it. But. Well. As the Naysayer said to me when I regaled him with this tale, "You know you were happy he googled you. Admit it."

I laughed.

"And," the Naysayer added, "who are you to talk?"

Okay. Now, while I never googled the guy, I did "look him up" on, um, well, okay, friendster, myspace and facebook, to name a few. Of course I never told him, and if he had installed sitemeter or some other monitoring device on any of his webpages, I would have been so busted as both a stalker and a hypocrite.

But he didn't.

Anyway, calling him a stalker 93 times is the only way I can stave off his ridiculing me on the picture he espied of the abominable Yellow Gal. Ugh. So mortified. And violated. And mortified.