Last night I hiked up to the city to hang out with J., my most recent ex. As we were walking to sushi, I thought I saw D., my college ex and BFF. I called out his name, he turned around, and soon we were chatting with him and his new girlfriend about pork donuts. A couple minutes later we parted ways.
“Did you date him?” J. asked.
“Yeah, but a million years ago–freshman year of college. Why?”
“Because the four of us have explored all possible dating combinations.”
::quizzical look::
“Well, you dated both guys, and he dated both girls, and then I had an awkward date with her, too. At Hog & Rocks, actually.”
“Oh, the restaurant where I cried in public?”
“Yup.”
After dinner, J. teased me by bringing up the far-too-young guy whom I briefly dated, and with whom J. now works. “Y’know, I had a good conversation with your 20-year-old today.”
“Shut up. He was, like, 22 at the time.”
At the end of the night, I came home to an email from the 22-year-old. We’re not really in touch, but I had emailed him earlier in the day upon realizing we had a bizarre six-degrees-of-Kevin-Bacon type connection. In his reply, he mentioned “I’ve enjoyed chatting with J. in our little nerd club. He’s a cool dude (even complemented my comic books today).”
Oh, my men.
