Monday evening. You leave your best friend's house, after an evening full of fun- you have been trying on her mum's 80's wardrobe and are taking home some of the clothes that don't her anymore.
Well, the evening was fun, your hair is a real mess, totally electroshocked after trying on all the silky and synthetic pullovers and your trousers are rolled up to your knees. Picture Bridget Jones, then you have me!
The trousers are rolled up
- firstly, because you have no problems showing off white socks (yes, you are convinced white socks match the off-white trousers better than black socks would)
- secondly, because you are on your way to pick up the bike. And since you will be busy with the huge bag full of 80's and early 90's clothes, you won't have the nerve to roll up the trousers while balancing the bike with the load of clothes. So you roll them up in advance.
So this is how you walk across the most noble corner of Vienna. Ready for heading straight home, quasi one foot in the pyjamas. It is no later than 9.30pm. But you feel like 10.30pm at least. Lets say 11.30.
And this is the moment when it happens.
You run into your Ex.
You remember, the one who planned to propose in September on San Torin - too bad you never got that far. Since all ended in June.
So it is this Ex who crosses paths. He wouldn't have recognized you at all, heading towards the underground car park, walking a few feet in front of you. Since he never dated ANY strange looking woman, and definitely not women with rolled up pants and white socks, walking around with stuffed plastic-bags at night with electroshocked hair, this would not have turned into anything.
But you recognize him. Of course you do, since he is wearing a 3-piece suit like always. Nailed shoes. As always.
And you shout his name.
Because this is the moment!
And the very second you shout his name, you realize: how ridiculous your appearance is.
Yes, you are fine. Yeah, and you just had a good time hanging out with your best friend.
Yes, indeed, he returned to the city with his wife and kids. He wants to know what you are doing and how you are doing. You pass on the basic coordinates.
You have thought of this moment before. How it would be, the moment you meet him after so many years.
You surely did not imagine the moment to turn out like the meeting tonight. At 9.30, with one foot in the pyjamas.
After a few sentences we say goodbye and I realise: There could not have been a better moment for running across your Ex in the streets.
No, I was not preppy, nor glam. I was ... a mess. And still, I called his name.
Was I stupid like Bridget when calling him, displaying myself in such a state?
No. I don't think so. I simply did not long for his approval but was just pleased to see him.
And this put a huge smile on my face while cycling back home to Mr. Paula.
Mr. Paula totally did not get it: why would you care?
And even more mysterious:
a) why would you call your Ex name in the street
b) why would you care about what your Ex thinks about you?
I had the short answer to b):
The moment you meet your Ex in the street, you have to make him feel sorry for being with another woman at this very moment. He could have had you. This is the rule. Obey it!
Talking Japanese could not have made less sense to Mr Paula than this explanation why "we" care.
Just in case you wonder, no, I am not over my Ex. I probably don't plan on ever being "over" him. Call me stupid, I call it a game. And tonight I draw the perfect card. I still smile while typing these words. I could not have been more relaxed and calm like the moment I met him. I did not expect myself being calm in this situation.
Many of my girlfriends have met or seen him during the past years and often they would give me an excited call. Yes, he is that kind of guy. A 3-piece guy so to say, that excites the friend's friends.
Tonight I need to thank my best friend. I can't deny the fact. It's because I feel good everytime I leave her place or whenever she leaves my place. And when feeling good, you don't long for anyone's approval. You radiate "content".
Well, what leaves us with b)
You remember: The moment you meet your Ex in the street, you have to make him feel sorry for being with another woman at this very moment. He could have had you.
Did (b) work out?
He probably will not feel sorry for the great looking woman he might miss - since there was no great looking woman visible tonight.
But: mmmmmmh. He could feel sorry for the presence of this woman in front of him, who dared to call his name with rolled up trousers and troubled hair. Just like this.
And there was this one sentence I said, standing in front of him, looking down at myself, with a smile on my face: "Great! Now this is how me meet again, me being a total mess." And I laughed.
Wait. I laughed? I made fun of myself? Really, ... finally? Humour?!?
The Paula I knew so far did not make fun of herself. No way.