Last Thursday, I was craving a chicken caesar salad. I had half an hour before my lifeguarding shift started, and Sunset Groceries deli-fresh salad bar was calling my name.  I thought, “Hey, I’ll just run in, scoop up one of those pre-made containers with the Parmesan shavings already rationed out, and go to work.” At the time, it didn’t even register that I was rocking my navy blue one-piece, with GUARD embroidered across the chest. Waistband rolled Soffes? Why not, it’s not like I was going to see anyone worth impressing in the deli line. Thursday at 1:30 PM was prime time for soccer moms, not soccer players.

Weaving in and out of the deli displays, my salad search came up empty-handed. Lunchables, guacamole, pineapple chunks, but no grilled chicken-y goodness. I finished a few more unsuccessful laps before surrendering myself to the deli line. Maybe the salads were just so delicious that they hid them behind the counter, I reasoned, a treat for the persistent customers. Besides, I needed to get to work. There were lives to be guarded, flip flop tans to perfect.

“Number 96?”

I looked up. HOLY CRAP. I blinked. HOLY FREAKING HELLA CRAP. There, behind the deli counter, sporting a white apron and what appeared to be an ill-fitting hairnet, stood my Big Ex. The one I had not seen since our drawn-out, emotionally-draining, mentally-exhausting December break-up.  Read More »