Am I as highly evolved as I like to believe?
When I walk down the street in my high heels, carrying a biodegradable cup of free trade coffee while furiously tapping away at the keys of my Blackberry, filled with a feeling of self-satisfaction for being SO wonderfully developed (at least more so than most of the masses)... what happens when I cross The Ex?
Here's what happens:
I drop the coffee, utter a swear word, duck behind my shades and that conveniently placed rack of postcards featuring scenes of our country undoubtedly shot by an amateur hand and pretend I don't exist.
I'm not saying that's what I did, simply what I believe I would do if I did find myself in that horribly embarrassing situation. You know the one... where The Ex looks normal and happily settled in with The Next.
A huge part of me wishes that I could casually look up from my trusted Mona (the Crackberry - YES, I named her), smile sagely and say hello before walking straight on. Hopefully in the direction of My Next, who would obviously look quite dashing as he usually does and more than eager to see me.
What was it Gwen Stefani - the Dalai Lama of Generation Y - sang? Something about you calling me by my new last name and us having friendly coffee with your new girlfriend?
I can say this though, I am definitely on board for that coffee... so long as I moved on first.
Take that, evolution... it's called a compromise. Live with it.
When I walk down the street in my high heels, carrying a biodegradable cup of free trade coffee while furiously tapping away at the keys of my Blackberry, filled with a feeling of self-satisfaction for being SO wonderfully developed (at least more so than most of the masses)... what happens when I cross The Ex?
Here's what happens:
I drop the coffee, utter a swear word, duck behind my shades and that conveniently placed rack of postcards featuring scenes of our country undoubtedly shot by an amateur hand and pretend I don't exist.
I'm not saying that's what I did, simply what I believe I would do if I did find myself in that horribly embarrassing situation. You know the one... where The Ex looks normal and happily settled in with The Next.
A huge part of me wishes that I could casually look up from my trusted Mona (the Crackberry - YES, I named her), smile sagely and say hello before walking straight on. Hopefully in the direction of My Next, who would obviously look quite dashing as he usually does and more than eager to see me.
What was it Gwen Stefani - the Dalai Lama of Generation Y - sang? Something about you calling me by my new last name and us having friendly coffee with your new girlfriend?
I can say this though, I am definitely on board for that coffee... so long as I moved on first.
Take that, evolution... it's called a compromise. Live with it.
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