by Jonathan B. Perry
So, I ‘Googled’ my ex-girlfriend from college, which isn’t as dirty as it sounds, but still feels a little like stalking. For those who have just emerged from a decade in caves and nuclear fallout shelters, ‘Googling’ means to search the vast bowels of the internet for information about pretty much anything, including curry recipes, British slang, very specific fetish sites, and even ex-girlfriends (hopefully none of these searches are related). I’ve only Googled my ex-girlfriend a few times, mostly when feelings of slight desperation couple with reminiscent musings. Actually, that sounds a bit tragic, so let‘s just go with curiosity for 500, Alex.
Well, it so happens her work phone number is listed with the Google search results (stalking is so easy these days) and I had this disturbing desire to call her in the middle of the day to chew the fat, but I would probably just have an awkward conversation with her secretary. What would I say anyway? I’d start with the easy stuff: how she’s been these last 10 years (the ex, not the secretary). Then I’d want to know things that are awkward to ask: if she’s dating or married, if she has children, and why we really broke up (which I would probably never ask or want to know), besides the fact that our relationship became long distance at the end.
Then, of course, the conversation would come back to me and she’d find out all the stuff I’m embarrassed about: I worked at the same hated job for several years before recently advancing ever so slightly, I’ve gotten chunky on chocolate ice cream, until last year I lived in the same dank apartment for a decade, and have hang-ups about going to doctors to whom I‘m not related. On the upside I could sneak into the conversation swell stuff, like that I just bought a house, I’ve had fun visits to Europe and Asia, I’ve written two books (both unpublished, of course), and have two charming nephews and an adorable niece, as if I had anything to do with that. I’ve even gone through little scenarios of conversations we might have and how delightfully awkward it might be to act out in regional theater and it all seems wonderfully sad and pathetic. Yay. What fun. Time to call the therapist.
Just so I feel better about myself and possibly less like a stalker, I think it would be swell if you, dear reader, were to go stalk… I mean ‘Google‘… your exes and report back. You know you want to.
The secret phrase is nuclear fallout shelter.
Subscribe to the Domesticated Bachelor through RSS or link to one of the buttons below! Do it!