Sarasota County is in desperate need of new signage at major crossroads, especially those near bridges.

Don’t believe me? Read on, dear readers, and remember, these are just a few troll encounters — all but one of which occurred within one emotionally unnerving week in October. I’ll let you ponder what that means for a single, sentient Sarasota woman during the other 51 weeks of the year.

Bachelor #1

Calls on Wednesday to invite me out on Sunday. Promises to call on Saturday to firm things up. Sunday comes and goes without a word. Finally an email late on Monday afternoon saying, sorry, he got tied up with a football game and some work, but, hey, he thought about calling!

Lucky girl that I am, he asks if he could have a second chance and make it up to me the coming weekend. Somehow, despite his obvious charms, I find myself replying: “Um, not a chance in hell?”

Bachelor #2

Oh, wait … he’s not a bachelor. Turns out, after several opportunities – at least eight or nine conversations, where he surely could have mentioned a little fact like being married (and no, he didn’t wear a wedding band) – he finally tells me over lunch, that, oh, yeah, he has a wife.

How do you say “Check, please?” in not-so-bachelor-ese?

Bachelor #3

Oh wait … he’s not a bachelor either!

We meet through business. He’s smart, powerful, easy on the eyes. So, when he starts flirting, I check out his hand. Yup, wedding band. My interest wanes, but his, apparently, doesn’t.

I’m barely home from the meeting before there’s a message from Mr. Married with a Ring on his Finger. He’d like to see me again … soon. “To get to know you better over dinner,” he says.

I’m going to risk a sizeable paycheck if I cut him off at the, uh, knees, as I feel like doing, so instead I play nice and respond as professionally as possible. “I’m flattered,” I lie. “But, unless that wedding band on your finger was a figment of my imagination, I’ll have to take a pass on the invitation.”

As nicely as I played it, I lose anyway – Mr. Married refuses to conclude the business we’d started.

Who says nice girls never win?

Bachelor #4

An email arrives from a man so precisely my age we could be twins. After sending gifts and letters telling of feelings so strong he’s got “butterflies” just imagining getting to know me better (his words not mine), he now suddenly tells me that that the entire time he’s been quietly pursuing me, he’s also been actively pursuing a much younger woman, who, by the way, he’s thinking about marrying. I shouldn’t take it personally, though; it’s just, he writes, “I really don’t ‘hang’ with women my own age.”

Nothing against me, he writes reassuringly: “You’re very attractive and very sexy ….” “And,” he adds with emphasis, “I really mean that.”

Whew! And I thought he was just blowing smoke up my dress.

I’m a bit worried. After all, I kissed this man … you don’t think dumb-ass-ness is contagious, do you?

So, Sarasota, get some signage up. I’m sure none of these guys actually live under a bridge … but they crawl out from under them just the same.