Creepoid vs. Bitch

So, back in August, I got an e-mail through Facebook from a guy I went to school with. It was all, "hey, are you the Falling who went to Certain High School I'd love to catch up blah blah." I didn't respond to it, because I really had no interest in reconnecting with him. We did know each other for several years, because we were in the same activities and went to the same junior high and high schools. But we weren't friends. We didn't hang out outside of school. We tended to bicker. I would call our relationship "grudgingly tolerant." Plus, my freshman year on an overnight choir field trip, he and this other guy busted in on me in the shower and took a picture. I got the picture back (luckily, this was a Polaroid, so I'm sure there's no other copies floating around out there, in case I decide to run for office), but, dude...that is not easily forgiven, you know? If you were ever a freshman girl, I think you probably understand. So when I see this guy's name, my first thought is, "That little shit."

Good thing I'm letting that go, huh?

What was weird was that, just a week or so before I got the friend request, the shower thing (hereafter referred to as The Incident) actually came up in conversation with MOTH, and the embarrassment flooded over me all over again.

(Not-so-quick aside: The reason it came up? I was taking a shower and MOTH came in with Tankbaby and had him peeping over the top of the shower curtain at me. I didn't hear them come in, so when I pulled the shower curtain back, I kinda shrieked, then glanced up at Tankbaby, shrieked again and batted out wildly at the shower curtain before I realized it was the baby. Poor Tank, of course, burst into terrified tears. MOTH was all, "What was that about?" and I had to explain a) that you just don't sneak up on people in the shower, because they're Naked and Vulnerable, b) you particularly don't sneak up on me, because of already-cited traumatic Incident, and c) I certainly didn't expect to see my son hovering in mid-air, seeing as how he has shown no talent for levitation thus far. I said, "I didn't realize it was the baby!"

MOTH: "What did you think I was holding, an angry badger?!"

Me: "Why would you be holding ANYTHING over the shower? Baby or badger, both are equally unexpected!"

MOTH: "If it was a badger, screaming and whapping at it isn't likely to be effective, anyway."

Me: "Noted. Now get out."

Fast forward to a week later, when MOTH was taking a shower and I decided to show him what it felt like, so I went in there with Tankbaby. MOTH heard us, and pointed out--rightly--that I probably didn't have the upper arm strength to get our giant baby that high and that maybe I should just cut my losses while no-one was injured. I conceded, and pulled the curtain aside just so Tankbaby could say hi. MOTH leaned back, his hair slicked back and his face covered in soap...and Tankbaby once again burst into terrified tears. Scarring shower associations: 2, Tankbaby: 0.)

Where was I? Oh, right, so I told MOTH the story and it all came rushing back. I still vividly remember the absolute mortification I felt when the curtain was suddenly pulled aside and I saw a flash. Then the outrage as I demanded the picture back (after who knows how many of the other kids had already seen it) and the quiet, impossible, stomach-churning ookiness of staring at that picture, at my horrified face, at my own body just...there...without clothes. Not that I thought my body was awful, or anything, but at 13 (I skipped a grade, so I was younger than my classmates), I was in that no man's land of being acutely aware of my changing body, but still wary or grossed out enough by the impending changes that I preferred not to be confronted with them.

So. No Facebook friend for me, thanks. I deleted the message. A few days go by and another message shows up in my inbox:

It's Greg ______ from _HS. Now, that I know that it is you I was hoping to become friends, so we could chat and catch up. You look great. Anxious to see what you have been up to. Hope to hear from you soon. Love, Greg.

I ignored this message as well. Not because of the poor use of the comma, or the creepily familiar "I know it's you" and "anxious to see what you've been up to" (anxious? really??) and "Love, Greg" (!!), but because I really haven't missed this person's presence in my life. I have never once said, "I wonder how old Shower Perv is doing," nor really given him much thought at all, save for remembering the Incident as part of our discussion of future household rules around shower etiquette.

So, life goes on. I e-mail my sister and my friend about this weirdness and they both take advantage of my discomfort by signing various e-mails and text messages "LOVE, Greg."

Then, yesterday, I log on and damned if my inbox doesn't hold the following:

Hey-It's Greg ________ from _HS and I would love to chat and catch up. Hope to hear from you soon. Miss ya.

The hell? I mean, if your e-mail is ignored twice, what does that tell you? Dude, take the hint! Also? "Miss ya"?! Even if I ignore the annoying "ya" business, what the hell do you miss? The long walks we never took? The heart to heart conversations we never had? The places we never went together?

So this is where I find myself tonight--framing possible responses in my head and wondering if he's being as creepy as I think he is, or if I'm being a big bitch. And yes, I'm aware that the two aren't necessarily mutually exclusive. What do I do now? Ignore again, and hope that this time he finally gets it? Write back and pretend I don't know who he is? Politely turn down his friend request? Those are all the nicer options, ones that are in line with the kind of person I'd like to be. However, that humiliated girl in the shower wants to write back:


Look, jackass--I ignored you twice, because I was trying to be polite. But since you can't take the hint, let me spell it out for you: WE AREN'T FRIENDS. WE WEREN'T FRIENDS. I AM NOT INTERESTED IN BEING FRIENDS. EVER. ALSO, YOU ARE CREEPILY OVER-FAMILIAR. Now stop it, because you're embarrassing both of us. Well, mostly you.

What do you think? Is 20 years too long to hold a grudge for something like this? Do you think he even remembers the Incident? I know WJWD, but Jesus was never a 13-year-old girl.