Hiding from Ex Datees
Datus Hiatus Week 2
Datus Hiatus is still in full effect. Well, for me, anyway. Across town, my friend Alexis is having her own personal man revival. “The drought is over!” she exclaimed as she ran blissfully amuck in the city’s downpour of eligible men. One man she is seeing is a young hottie who plays in a rock band, while another is a martial-arts god, and the third is into Michelin-star-rated food; he picked her up at Range last night. When it rains men, it pours! Alexis is making us all proud by perfecting the art of juggling. Maybe I’ll take lessons. In the meantime, I seem to need to deal with some lingering issues from the past before I jump back in.
It seems as if ex-boyfriends and ex-datees (you know, the guy you had a few dates with before one of you hastily disappeared) have come out of hibernation to haunt me.
Last week, while I was walking down Chestnut minding my own business, I had my first spotting. Ex-datee Chris was rounding the corner. Why did I start to sprint away in mortification? Well, I had ended a few weeks of dating Chris with some lame excuse that I had a … um … er … terminal illness. Hey, you never know about those moles! In all honesty, I was very hypochondriac-like at the time. My doctor found a suspicious-looking spot. It was my first suspicious-looking spot and worthy of a panic. And Chris was so nice and wonderful, I couldn’t think of any other reason than a terminal illness to end it. I know, I know, bad, bad, TERRIBLE form, and I am paying the price with years of dating misery as penance.
Ex-datee Paul was spotted in Whole Foods. I never really ended any dating session with Paul. Rather, he ended it for me as I caught myself saying over a fancy California-style dinner, “I cannot believe we are allowing ourselves to spend so much money on this food. I mean how can you enjoy your foie gras with the situation in Darfur right now? You do know what’s happening in Darfur, don’t you?” I remember shaking my head in dismay. Why did I say that? Please, someone tell me? It’s been years since I watched one of those Ethiopia infomercials. And it wasn’t all that long ago that I wrote a review on Yelp.com for French Laundry. I hid in the produce aisle ‘til he left.
Ex-datee John was the worst. I spotted him on a flight back from a work engagement. There was nowhere to hide; he was sitting right across the aisle. John and I stopped dating after date No. 3 (that annoyingly meaningful date). I insisted on bringing my friend Mazz along for the ride. I had overbooked myself, and in all honesty, I wasn’t sure if I could handle the man alone. It was totally uncomfortable. Even more uncomfortable when he and Mazz got in a heated political discussion. The meal ended with tempers flaring and a huge bill. So when I saw John on United Flight 070, I decided to pretend to be engrossed in my book.
Yes, I have the dating maturity of a 12-year-old. Not only should I have ended those dates with more finesse and honesty, but I also should have been diplomatic enough to say hello when I saw the guys again. Why does hiding always seem like a good option? Why do I have a collection of fake wigs and glasses in my closet? Ugh. Time to be real. I am hoping my datus hiatus will give me the reflection time I need to finally start acting my age. I may also enroll in finishing school …