Ex Boyfriend Alley

When I was in college, there was a manhole cover on fourteenth street that constantly leaked steam. One day my friend Stephen remarked "You know, I think that must be where they keep all of our ex boyfriends. It's the ex boyfriend museum." Everytime we walked by we mused about new additions, imagining their dirty smudged faces looking longingly towards a sliver of light as they heard our mocking voices above.

The idea of keeping ex boyfriends penned up in a distinct location is very appealing. Nothing is worse than hurrying to work late- make up put on with a shaky hand-rounding the corner with a coffee - and almost slamming into an ex ( managing to soak the cuff of your shirt)-have to stammer out some pleasantries-rush off to work and pretend like you aren't in shock for the rest of the day while you deal with a coffee stained soggy sleeve.

It seems to me that it is easier in a great many cases, especially when someone pulls a Houdini, to simply forget that they exist-a kind of "It's a Wonderful Life" scenario without the happy ending-a kind of "oh look if you didn't exist, things would be better-oh good, I can move on now" type of scenario. Or in other words, if a man vanishes, can't he have the decency to stay vanished?

Now what brings on these ramblings? Guess who sent me an email after a six week vanishining act?


I kid you not people. I just opened my email and there it was.

Now, if you remember I said I blocked his email, and indeed I did, but I didn't block his work email, which is where he sent it from. And if you think I wasn't more confused than a dog being shown a card trick-if you think I wasn't more confused that trying to analyze a ezra pound poem BEFORE-well, you have no concept of how confused I am now. I mean what kind of mindfuck is that? I vanish, never give you an explaination, but send you a two line email on your birthday and sign off with the line "kisses." Is it me or is that straight from the Ted Bundy Manual?

The entire email read as follows:

"I'm Maybe far bat I didn't forgot Happy Birthday



(Yep those mispellings were in the email-no joke)

And even more confusing, what the fuck do I do?

Now I know the simple answer, the right answer, the as clear as a note carved into your forehead with a dull razor answer is nothing. The guy is clearly not to be trusted-just move on.

And there is absolutely no RATIONAL REASON not to follow that advice.

But I have to think there is an equally obnoxious two line response I should send to him. Maybe a cryptic literary allusion ( "where are all the good men dead, in the heart or in the head?") or directly bitchy ("you clearly mistake me for someone who gives a fuck") or upfront/honest ("if you really wanted to show me you cared you would sent me an explaination").

It must be getting cramped there under fourteenth street. Maybe I should send them one of my old fruitcakes.

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