I’m back to the blog because I’ve had some super embarrassing things happen to me lately (or since I was born). I believe that someone with a life just a little more together might really take these events to heart and feel a sense of shame. They might, say, notice a pattern and try and start doing things to keep these things from happening to them. I choose, instead, to share them with you and make you all feel much better about your lives.
Earlier last week I ran into my ex and the woman he left me for. Ok, that should be embarrassing enough to admit right there. I was dumped for another woman. But I’m going to just make it more painful for everyone else and keep going with this story. We’ve been broken up almost a year, so any wounds are pretty good and healed. No really. It’s been a year and a pretty good year at that. This was, however, the first time I’ve ever seen them together. I’ve seen them both separately but not together. No matter how much time has passed or how mature you are, you still want to “win.”
If you’re like me, you imagine the first time you see your ex on a date that you’d be doing something so wonderful and cool that you would have to WIN. You could care less about them, because whatever it is you were doing at that moment was just so cool you couldn’t be bothered to care they were there. I played it out in my head and I imagined I’d be doing 1 of 2 things:
I’d be on the back of a motorcycle with my arms tightly holding onto Ryan Gosling. We’d both be in leather jackets and skinny jeans and ironic Doc Martens. I’d maybe even be smoking a cigarette with red lipstick rings around it. (footnote: I don’t smoke. I really don’t have an interest in smoking, but it seems so cool to casually flick your lipstick stained cigarette as your rev off and away on your motorcycle…with Ryan Gosling). I’d be laughing at something very intellectual and arty and just seem too bad ass for words. He’d be very much in love with me and quote Bukowski to me or something.
I’d be in a long gown, tiara, long white gloves, and a cigarette holder (Hmm… maybe I secretly want to take up smoking?). I’d be attending a state function as the arm candy for Prince Harry. I’d have the perfect mix of intellectual wit, manners, and I’d be “so real” it’d be refreshing. I’d be off talking important state matters and polo matches as Prince Harry just laughs. I tousle his ginger hair as he looks up with me with a sheepish grin saying, “You’re just so real, it’s refreshing.”
Spoiler alert: Neither of these things happened.
Instead, when I ran into ex and girl I had just come from the gym. I don’t dress for the gym like I probably should. Instead, I wear cropped leggings as pants and a wife beater. There is NOTHING sexy or attractive about this look. It’s much more about me not understanding spending money on anything athletic, and I hate when shorts ride up. So I’m wearing leggings as pants and my wife beater and taking Bogie on his walk. I… maybe… hadn’t washed my hair in a few days so I had thrown it into 2 french braided pig tails. It was a very hot day and Bogie has a lot of fur, so being the kind dog owner that I am, I brought along some water for the dog – I’m toting this water in my fanny pack. I’ve had my fanny pack for years, but I typically wear it slung across my shoulder at the Pitchfork Festival.
But oh no. Of course I wasn’t that day. Thad day, I was wearing it around me like a mom passing out juice boxes after a soccer game. I looked ridiculous. There was no portion of my “look” that should be ok to wear in public. NONE OF IT.
I was also listening to Game of Thrones on audiobook. Thankfully that couldn’t be heard threw my headphones, or I would have just been too embarrassed, I actually might have died.
So I’m looking so ridiculous, walking my dog. I don’t have on my glasses so I don’t see them sitting at an outside bar enjoying a drink. I’m just walking along, I’m sure making facial expressions matching whatever is happening in Game of Thrones. Once I get close enough and realize what I’m walking up to, I take it all in, feel like an idiot and give a little wave. I keep walking until I reach the bench to give Bogie his water. I kept secretly hoping Gosling would show up and I could save the situation. But he didn’t and I couldn’t.
I guess I didn’t win this one. I got caught rocking the fanny pack.
Moral of this story: DON’T WEAR LEGGINGS AS PANTS IN PUBLIC.
I’m still going to wear my fanny pack. It’s super practical, guys.