Too much past blast

Be warned that my young adult life had a decidedly daytime-drama air to it, but my visits from the ghosts of upheavals past this evening were a bit more than I can process at once.

First, it’s pick my kids up at the ex’s trailer, where he lives with the woman who worked for me in high school, who he was dating before we met and who was, for a while after we were married, driving by our house at odd hours.

And if that’s not bad enough, I’m happily standing at the UScan checking out my small basket of groceries when a friendly “how are you doing” reaches my ears. I look up and see the friendly, smiling faces of two people, a couple, I knew when we were all teens. Awww. Nice. Sweet. Yeah, except the deal is that I know him because I had a six-month-long torrid relationship with him. I know her because she is the girlfriend he was “in the process of breaking up with” the whole time. (Note that these two are married now.) I know both of them because they are the ones who eventually ended with misdemeanor convictions for beating the crap out of me after school.

Hi, how are you doing? Whoa! Overload. I mumbled something pleasant and laughed nervously and then left. What the heck are you supposed to say? “Hi! How are the kids? You still wearing those strange, shiny underwear?”

Yeah. I always think of the best things to say after the fact.

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