Tuesday, 30 October 2012


You can be my boyfriend, my friend or my ex. Choose one.

I don't really get the expression "friends with benefits."  They all have benefits, or else why would they be friends? (What? Oh, that kind of benefits ... well, never mind then.) 
But what I don't get even more than that are "friends with exes." 
How is this even possible?

I’ve known a few people who are friends with their exes. 

I've known people who call their exes to talk about their new lover. And not in the Carrie-and-Big "I'm telling you in the hope that you'll be jealous" way, but just as a friend. 
One of my girlfriends is on better terms with her ex than I ever was with any of my husbands. (Yes, I said "husbands," plural. Please refer to the disclaimer portion of this blog, where I specifically note that I am not perfect.)
I’ve even known one couple who divorced, then SHE  married his brother and HE married a younger woman, and now they all hang out together and have dinner and stuff. 
How weird is that? 
I mean, aside from the relationships that yield kids you’ll both have to parent for 24 years or whatever . . . those suckers are staying longer in the nest every year; soon it'll be the parents who are expected to leave so the kids can finally have the house to themselves  . . . once it’s over, it's over.

As for me, I don't talk to any of the men I once shared my life with anymore. To me, this makes fundamental sense. I refer to you as the “ex.” To continue to consort with you would be contradictory and confusing to me, my friends, my kids, my vagina and my new boyfriend, if I had one. If I were able to carry on a civil conversation with you and give a rat's ass about how your life was going, why would we have split up in the first place? 

Of course, there's a chance that I am wrong and that the people who are capable of ex-friending are just better than me. 
Right. You're right. That's ridiculous, and I'm sticking with my original theory. So, my next ex-husband, wherever you are: you've been warned.