I had lunch with my highschool/college boyfriend yesterday. It was his 26th birthday (closer to 30 than 20–that’s me in a few months too!), and he was in town for some job interview. He looked frightfully classy (styley gray slacks, crisp button-up shirt, cashmere sweater vest, gray boiled wool jacket), but despite appearances hasn’t changed a bit.

He wondered aloud why everyone else seems to have found a partner, and he’s still single. I was brutally honest (”You’re a nice friend, but a shitty boyfriend. You should try to figure out why you’re so dishonest with the women you sleep with”), and deliciously thankful that I got myself away from him five years ago. PHEW!

When I stopped by Owen and Scott’s, Owen commented on how good I looked.

“I had lunch with an exboyfriend,” I explained.

He understood completely.