when it’s done

July 12, 2009

My boyfriend tells me about his exes. “One of my ex-girlfriends was allergic to peanuts. I never made her my famous beef satay with peanut sauce because if I did, she could have died. And she was too hot for that.”
“My ex-girlfriend had issues. I know everyone has issues, but she had ISSUES.”
“This ex of mine just laid there when we had sex. Never did any work. She was fucking hot, but just laid there.”

I’m not naive, but if I had been, his words of warning, before we even started dating, would have matured me in a second: “I like you, but this isn’t going to last.”

Some of the things I imagine he’ll say to his future girlfriends, perhaps even future wives (yes, no doubt plural), when this ends (and it will end):

“One of my ex-girlfriends didn’t like coconut. Who doesn’t like coconut?”

“This ex of mine couldn’t walk past this street corner without gagging. I guess the smell of freshly hatched feces made her sick or something. Annoying.”

But if I’m right, and if I’m lucky, not all of the reminiscing will be negative.

“My last girlfriend was an insane speller. Everywhere we’d go, on billboards, menus, scrawled lost dog signs, whatever, she’d spot the misspelled words, casually, like it was second nature. And I think it was.”


“One of my ex-girlfriends remembered everything I ever said. Sober, drunk, half-asleep, she remembered what I screamed, mumbled, dreamed, and let me know in little ways.”

“Or how she mouthed the words ‘I love you’ when she thought I wasn’t paying attention.”


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