There are few things I find more irritating than a man who is friends with his ex.
And invariably, they are always quite smug about it. As if it makes him better than those of us who want to melt our exes down into adhesive. As if him telling me that he’s “friends” with his ex will suddenly elevate his standing in the booboise.
Mr. Ripples[i] was friends with his ex. She was his “interior decorator.” With a key to his place. She also happened to be a minister with the Church of the Universe; an order that considers pot a sacrament and promotes “nudity as a demonstration of human equality.”
Surprisingly, I found that only slightly less threatening than her being a former model.
However, he did make sure to tell me, quite emphatically, that they “hadn’t slept together in five years!”
Colour me dubious.
What guy isn’t tapping the stoned, skinny bitch running around naked in his apartment? Once I was the drunk, regular-sized bitch running around topless in a guy’s apartment and he definitely copped a feel.
Mr. LA is friends with his exes too. All of them. But it’s his most recent that really chafes my ass. She’s French and an artist (Oh, excuse-moi, I meant artiste).
“But she’s crazy!” was Mr. LA’s unhelpful reassurance[ii] (I don’t necessarily know if being French contributes to her “crazy,” but as a general cultural observation, I don’t think it helps).
While information on her and the particulars of their relationship is relatively spotty, it was over drinks with Mr. LA and a mutual friend of his and the cocotte that a most nettlesome piece of information was revealed:
She’s hip to group sex.
One can only speculate as to why this mutual friend felt it would behoove me to know that at a recent party, she instigated an orgy in the bedroom.
Following a cunning Gallic with a suspect degree of sanity is daunting enough. But sexually adventurous one?
When a guy tells you that he’s friends with his ex, the subtext isn’t, “See how sophisticated I am? I can break up amicably with a woman and still maintain a mature friendship.” The subtext is, “I’m keeping my options open just in case she wants to get back together.
Or she needs a spare for a ménage a trois.