I guess I owe you a story, huh? I didn’t mean to leave you hanging like that – I got super busy with stuff and then I was too tired to write it all out last night. So, yeah. SexyPants.
Last Saturday, after my meeting with BIL and my trip back to the mall to return the Tory Burch sandals that ripped the tops of my feet to shreds (did they do that to you too, Elaine?!), and after cleaning the house and making some dinners for the week (Chicken Masala with carrots and cauliflower rice – oh so yum! And special taco fixins and baked tortilla chips), and clicking around online, I was lying on top of my bed with my eyes just baarrreeellly starting to close for one of my all-too-common Saturday afternoon naps, when I heard a text from SP asking me if I still lived in the building where…I still live.
Yes, I answered back, knowing that he was helping his nephew move so he was close by. The reason I knew that he was helping his nephew move is because earlier in the week, SP had texted me a photo of a small handbag and a framed photo of me, Lovely and Anna, asking if I wanted them back. I said that at the very least I wanted the photo back, but WhyTF did he still have some of my stuff (I’d clearly forgotten about these items for YEARS)? After I told him that I no longer had the engagement ring, he’d brought boxloads of stuff to various locations – my place, my OFFICE…
Seems that I’d somehow tucked these items into some piece of furniture of SP’s and then SP had given the furniture to his nephew, I guess around the time that SP got engaged to that woman in Florida (I told you about that, didn’t I? I can’t remember).
ANYWAY.
He was close. And he had stuff. So I told him to just stop by. And he did. I went downstairs to meet him so I could get the goods, and we chatted for a moment…or two…and the next thing you know we were in his car (me and the dog) and headed to a patio to grab a quick bite for dinner and to catch up.
I don’t know why. I don’t know why we went to dinner together…it was just nice to talk with him. There was nothing, NOTHING with regards to feelings. As in, I didn’t feel longing, I didn’t feel sadness, I just felt like an old friend catching up. I certainly didn’t feel like I wanted to date him or “see” him or anything like that.
It was just SO NICE to talk. That’s all. We talked like old friends. And we laughed like old chums. And poked fun at each other in front of the waiter and told him that it was OK…we could do that…because we had been engaged before – TWICE!!! Hahahahah!
He told me about his engagement nightmare and wondered why he’d ever gotten engaged to her because they “didn’t even really like each other.”
He told me of his most recent dating nightmare. He’d broken up with a woman TWO nights ago because she’s an “alcoholic flight attendant” and he didn’t like that she would get fall-down drunk in front of his work colleagues and she’d actually moved herself in with him because she’d been kicked out of her sister’s house and had no other place to live (??!).
He told me of other women and how crazy dating is.
He told me that I was RIGHT when I told him that my biggest fear about getting married was that he hadn’t taken the time since his divorce to go out and DATE, and date A LOT so that he could get it all out of his system after his 20-year marriage. Because it’s a wild ride and he needed to know what he was getting into! And also, so that he could appreciate what he could have with me.
He told me, again, that he was sorry he’d fucked it up between us. He takes 100% of the blame.
It doesn’t hurt anymore. It really doesn’t. I loved his stories. To me, they felt like a weird mixture of vengeance and comedy and apology.
He took the dog and me home after dinner and dropped us off at the door. We said goodbye, but I know it won’t be the last time I see him. I want to have dinner with his BFF and BFF’s Wife (because they’d asked and you know I love them).
After I went home, I opened the small, beaded handbag that I’d left tucked away somewhere at SP’s house. Inside was foreign currency - Dirham, from my trip long ago to Morocco - and a bunch of calling cards for restaurants and shops from the souks of Marrakech. It brought back a flood of sweet and wonderful distant memories of that trip. I only remember a few of the vivid details, but the rest of that experience is a hazy, glorious cloud of sights and smells and textures.
In a way, I feel the same way about SexyPants. I remember the joy in our laughter and the texture of our relationship. I don’t know if it’s that I’ve blocked out all of the torturous time I spent afterwards (I did spend a little time telling Athena about the horrible Extended Stay Hotel I stayed in immediately after I left him, so some of those memories did come back – but I certainly haven’t spent time dwelling on them).
It just feels like…there. It was one of the big experiences of my life. And it’s one of many, many experiences that I’ve had. And I know I will collect more experiences – here, there, on the other side of the world. But SP feels so distant – a world away – a collected memory. And I’m absolutely fine with that.
Gotta run.
xox,
GS
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