What is it about running into an ex that turns even the most confident woman in a shivering bundle of insecure nerves? How can someone who is no longer involved in your life, someone you shoved out the door and made sure the sure got hit in the ass on his way out, make you feel like a teenage schoolgirl? And I’m not talking in the “I’ve been bad so why don’t you come over here and spank me” kind of way but in the “where the eff did that humongous zit come from” way.
I made the gigantic mistake of marrying someone who is friends with the ex-boyfriend I would have otherwise married. Talk about awkward when it came time to dole out the wedding invites! Although we now live thousands of miles apart, similar online social circles have kept us informed on one another lives….and sometimes throw us together in the same room.
Last week was one of those instances. Did we want to go to the city to have dinner with him and other college friends? Heck yeah we did. My husband because he wanted to see who was living in the area, and me because we all know that I am a psycho facebook stalker who needed to fill in gaps that too few tagged photos had left in my research. More info was needed to determine which one of us was in the better place.
I only had a few days notice, so I had to pack in all of my anxiety and last-ditch efforts to transform from housewife into ultimate MILF in a small window. (FYI – if you are trying to do this without your husband catching onto your antics, I recommend having at least a week’s notice. Especially if, like me, you tend to make shaving your legs an annual exercise.)
I fretted over what to wear, mentally trying on clothes and trying to envision how many inches I could suck in on my stomach (Two in panty hose, twelve in spanx). Then sweating over hairstyles, make-up, shoes and everything else you think of when planning your prom outfit. I was that bad.
And let’s not forget about my wild imagination. What if I suddenly realized that I liked him better? What if he still liked me? What if he swept me off my feet and wanted to move me halfway around the world? Would my husband mind? (Maybe….the likelihood went up when I factored in my MILF makeover).
By the time I got to the dinner I was shaking in my shoes, shivering with nerves and holding onto my husband for dear life. Then he was there. Total time from first glimpse to remembering why we split up in the first place: 2.5 seconds. Remaining time at dinner spent mentally laughing at my own insanity: 2.5 hours.
So Blunties, what is the verdict? Why is it that we give some people the power to shake up our lives for years past and years to come? Oh, and is anyone interested in a slightly used set of Spanx and some cougar red lipstick?