Dammit! I fed the stray...

A while back, I came up with the concept of "feeding the stray." When a stray animal (say a cat) comes around and you feed it once, it's going to keep coming around because it's discovered a source of food. There's a similar pattern among humans. We've all seen it: the shy, awkward outsider just looking for a chance to belong. The misfit in desperate need of a sense of acceptance among his peers. Then one person extends a polite kindness--an invitation to a party, a drink at the bar--and suddenly the misfit feels like a friend. And just like that, you've fed the stray. You will not shake this loser with anything short of a restraining order--and even those aren't guarantees. If you run into each other in social settings, he'll follow you around like a bad fart. If you give him your number, he'll call you endlessly. The only thing that can end the cycle is when the "stray" finds another source of "food." So you introduce him to your friends (not the good friends, the ones you rarely speak to) praying he'll latch onto one of them. You try desperately to shake this kid like a booger stuck to your finger. There's no moral to this story, just wanted to explain what I mean when I say, "Dammit! I fed the stray..." Some of you know who I'm talking about, but I don't think I'll ever really be rid of the motherfucker. At this point, I've accepted it, even embraced. Hell, maybe I was the stray that he fed. Who knows at this point.