I stood still, with my back turned. He called my name from that stupid blue minivan he sat in. My eyes were locked on the chair in the Starbucks lounge, while my heels turned to face him. Despite every bone in my body telling me to run or walk very quickly in the opposite direction, behind closed doors, my brain spasmed and I turned around to say “What?”
He smiled his creepy grin, while his big nose reminded me of why it all ended – drugs, not shallowness -and told me that “I don’t have to run.” Hilarious. I wanted to grab my non-existent gut and laugh hysterically. Instead, I just reiterated my “What” with more annoyance.
His attempts with let’s-catch-up-in-two-minutes-while-I-sit-in-this-minivan were futile. His talk of his joining the Navy and my dry answer of “Cool” ended the conversation before the third minute could arrive. I walked away from the whole situation laughing, and I called my present boyfriend and exclaimed how funny it was; his amusement on the issue was dead. He ended up thinking I hugged him and we made up or out, whichever. I suppose he will never understand my dislike for that character in the minivan.
What I do know is that I looked mighty cute and I’m mighty glad I did. No ex-girlfriend wants to be caught looking like a drab… even if she dated a pathetic loser. It’s already enough to say the sentence “Yes, I did date that…thing… once in my lifetime.” Sometimes, a young womans life can really be like an episode of ‘Sex and the City’. I would like to dub that as my Carrie Bradshaw moment.
And why in the world was he in a minivan? Oh well.