Oh The Douchebaggery

I have said it a million times...Providence is small.
But lately it has been getting downright claustrophobic.
In a town that's barely a few miles wide, it is impossible to retain any amount of anonymity.

It blows.

Inevitably, one has to encounter their past.
I'm not sure of the proper decorum when running into exes. I don't know if anybody is prepared for such awkwardness.
But I'd like to think that I can rise above the weirdness of the situation and behave like an adult.
I mean, we all know there is a giant fetid elephant in the room, so let's just do away with the pretense, say hello, exchange some non-controversial pleasantries, and move on.

Where is all of this coming from?

I got the fake-out today.

You know the move.
I'm sure we have all been guilty of the maneuver at least once or twice.
I was walking to the bank today when I became unfortunately aware that I was sharing the sidewalk with someone from my past.
Now, let's just delve right into this conundrum...
You have seen me naked!
You have heard me utter some meaningful nothings.
We shared a period of time together that meant something, at the time.

I am no floozy!

My dating history is not littered with many casualties.
So when I see you out, I expect at least a nod of recognition.
Instead, you are pretending to make a call.
I know you are pretending because you are overly animated and flushed and just doing your best to act like the meter-divide that seperates us somehow offers a cloak of invisibility.
Guess what?

I saw you.

And now is where karma catches up with me because, I too, have used the fake-out.
I'm not proud.
Uncomfortable conversations are not high on my list of enjoyable activities.
But we are for all intents and purposes (not to mention, calender-wise) adults.
Say hello to a sista'.
I'm not going to bite your ankles, I swear!