Dating: Who Gets The Last Laugh?

You date, you learn. And you’d think that the people you date will just vanish of the face off the earth, because it’s only polite, right? You dealt with the waves of nausea and anxiety during the end-phase, and so they should bother you no longer.
“Should” being the key word.
I’m a fan of amicably parting ways, sure, but when you pointedly don’t is the guaranteed time that son of a bitch will come back to haunt you. So as a preventative measure you weed them out. You try to be proactive and delete them from your phone—number, email, all of it, and even those text messages and voicemails you like to listen to.
Have faith, you’ll find a new distraction, let down your guard because this one’s different, and the cycle can repeat itself all over again. Joy. In any case, you make moves and move on, and the ex, or pseudo-ex, or whatever you called him is but a distant memory.
If you haven’t guessed by now, the weeding out can bite you in the ass. Please, dear readers, learn from my mistakes.
These days, I’ve been plenty distracted, and out of nowhere I get a call. The number wasn’t familiar, but come on; we all know those randoms who get your number at the bar and don’t call it for three-to-six months after the fact. I was feeling adventurous. I answered.
In retrospect, and even at the time, this was not a good idea. Don’t do this. The voice sounded vaguely familiar, a guy’s, but I couldn’t exactly place it. And here follows the dialogue:
Mystery Caller: So you’re number’s in my phone but I don’t know who this is. Did we maybe have a fun night together or something?
—At this point, you should regret answering and hang up. Me? Well, curiosity killed the cat, not the K, right?—
K: You’re not in my phone at all so I really couldn’t tell you. What’s your name?
—Continuing is worse than answering. But he sounded kind of attractive.—
Mystery Caller: [joking around, avoiding the question] I’m just trying to figure out how I know you. What’s your name again?
—First of all, homes, YOU called ME. This guy must’ve known SOMETHING. But I know this voice, and my chattiness and boredom win the inner debate. I do not hang up. Should this happen to you, Hang. Up.—
K: I’m K. Who are you?
Mystery Caller: K, this is [insert The Comedian, aka the crier’s, actual name here]. Does that ring a bell?
—Of course it does. I thought I’d never hook up again after that disaster. Why are you calling me like a year after the fact…?—
K: Oh…. Yeah.
Comedian: So did we have a fun night together or what?
—Do not be nice. But if you’re like me, and dumb enough to continue, you probably will be.—
K: I mean, that might’ve happened.
— And then you cried and it got too awkward to even talk. Where the eff are you going with this?—
Comedian: K, why don’t you tell all the people about that night—
CLICK. I snapped my phone shut and threw it as though it were burning my hand. “Tell the people”? That douchebag had his cell phone up to a microphone while he was PERFORMING A STAND-UP GIG.
And seriously? What kind of comedian makes calls as part of his routine? Oh, a BAD one. Who CRIES IN BED.
Rage is really not a strong enough word for this situation. Twenty minutes later I got a text saying he realized who I was and apologized, saying he’d explain but I’d probably think he was a bigger a**hole than I already did.
I’m not entirely sure that’s possible.
And a week later? To add insult to injury, I walked past him and his new girlfriend as I was leaving work. In a city of 8 million, this guy is one of the passers by. The guys from the past pop back up, when you least expect it and least need it. So how do you handle the ex encounter? Keep silent and keep moving, or by getting the last laugh?
[Photo courtesy of]

This Week: Decisions For The Ages
This Week: Decisions For The Ages
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