Yesterday I called to check on my ex, J.
The chick he’d been bumpin (my PC term for the dirty-dirty) had moved away and he was a little sad.
“Was this that old chick?” I asked. (32 to his 25. Hey, still older than me!)
“Yes,” he replied.
“The same one who looks like a pig?” (Seriously, he’s been around lately, and it’s hard to keep them straight).
“She doesn’t look like a pig,” he said.
“The chubby blond that sometimes crimps her hair or unfortunately has hair that curls like that on its own, with the pig nose?” I asked, trying to confirm which girl it was.
That got him mildly irritated, but I was just genuinely surprised. I know my ex’s type, which isn’t that, and couldn’t believe that was whom he kind of missed. I found myself laughing at his irritation and hanging up saying, “Oh, go call your Ms. Piggy!” Mentally, he said he missed her, physically I think he was doing just fine.
I’m not normally one to put down women according to their looks but I will do far worse when it comes to jealousy. But why was I jealous? What the hell is wrong with you, Kim?
I don’t want my ex. I want good things for him but not to be with him. Frankly, I am happy, most of the time, that he found an ugly girl to bump. Can you imagine if it was a hot girl? I would be off the chain! But again, why was I jealous? I really didn’t give too much thought to it. I think after any break up, people are jealous. Not because you want them back, I don’t really know why, but life experience tells me it’s normal.
I replayed the entire conversation of our chitchat. Finally, in the bath, it hit me. She had dogs. Two. They sounded like larger breeds like mine. J has my Buford. My sweet, baby love, Buford who I still adore so much. I wasn’t jealous of her relationship to J; it was the obvious relationship to Buford. They had been bumpin, ere, dating, which meant sleepovers; both parties have dogs, that means doggie sleepovers. And Buford has a brother and a sister already! He doesn’t need her shitty, smelly dogs bothering him!
I guess that’s not true. What Buford doesn’t need is a new mom.
Having no desire to call J back, I knew I had to take this out on someone. So I called the person I’m closest to, Scott. Instead of venting or even mentioning the situation, I found myself ending things. I hung up again thinking, what the hell is wrong with you, Kim?
Soaking in the bath, again, thinking about what the hell is wrong with me, I got a text. Rob. Rob and I met through friends, and he sporadically texts me. Always nice things, about enjoying your day or your weekend etc. Soaking, I thought again about what a turd J’s new girl was, and what a turd Scott is, and how much I love my new- found use of the word, turd. Before I could chastise myself for taking the phone into the bath with me, I got another text, from Rob. Dinner? Movie? Anything?
Sighing, I got out of the bath and called. That evening, I had my first date with Rob.
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Kimmie is a graphic designer, full time dog-mom and aspiring aerialist. You can keep up with her craziness on her blog life-withdogs.blogspot.com and follow her on twitter at @lifewithdoggies