Guess who I ran into this weekend? My ex-boyfriend. I had neither seen nor talked to him since we broke up, let's see, three years ago? We were together for six years. Six! I totally wasted my twenties on this guy. Actually, for a long time we had a lot of fun. He was in a cool band. He knew lots of cool people. He was a DJ on a cool radio station here in town. So, you know, he was pretty fun to begin with. Then he started running. A lot. And not just 5Ks. He did marathons, 32 mile ultramax races, adventure races, Ironman stuff. He spent all of his money on bike gear and nipple guards and I'd end up with crap presents for my birthday like a computer generated coupon for a backrub or some such shit. Also, with all of this activity, I was eating more than he was and I was on Weight Watchers most of the time. He got so thin and began acting like an asshole constantly. I think that his brain was being eaten by his body.
So he sounds like a real catch, eh? I still started bugging him about getting married around four years into the thing. I was watching all, and I do mean ALL of my friends get married and started to panic. Finally, we ended up in therapy. Just one session, though. That's all it took for me to realize that I was being a complete needy idiot. He had no intention of ever marrying me and I wasn't going to waste one more day on this guy. The end.
So, three years later (last Saturday, specifically), standing in the bagel shop, I hear:
I turn around and see a even thinner John, standing there looking like a scarecrow and I almost throw up on the floor. (Which I was going to anyway, if I didn't get my bagel soon.)
"Oh, hey!", I say fakely and give him a fake hug.
(small talk, small talk)
He looks at mid-section that I'm trying to disguise with a baggy Riverdance t-shirt.
"Are you having a baby?"
I guess by my third go at this, I'm looking more pregnant than I really am. I look down at my belly and say, "Oh yeah. I am. But I'm pregnant a lot, so we'll see. Heh, heh." Ack! Who says stuff like that? Way to be morbid, Laura. And then 'heh, heh?' I should have just told him, "No I am not pregnant. I am fat. You asshole."
"Oh, I heard about what happened last year. I'm sure sorry," he said.
"Thanks. It's been really hard."
And then more small talk where I discover that he's still doing the same boring, self-centered stuff that he's done forever and will probably be a very lonely old man, doing the same thing. I've known from the very beginning how lucky I am to have found Tom. I know that I griped about him a bit yesterday, but honestly I could fill volumes with testimonies on how wonderful he is. And when it comes to gift-giving, you could say that a coupon for free hugs is romantic and sweet and it's the thought that counts. But a Tiffany bracelet for Christmas is a whole hell of a lot better. Call me petty.