Good to see you too.

It's a small state, Connecticut.  And most of the time, as I say over and over again, you run into the people that you don't want to see.  Because I feel like I can say out loud over and over again that I wouldn't mind running into him.  You know, him.  The last one.  I would be completely fine with it.  Better than fine maybe.  Who knows.  And sitting at the bar with one of his co-workers who knew nothing about the situation was do-able too.  But then she walked in.

I didn't realize that I had met her before.  Our second date.  It was a Mexican holiday.  I was toasted.  And he had his hands in places that shouldn't have been seen in public.  She was there that night--of course I didn't think anything of it then.  (And I don't now--somehow, it made me feel good tonight to know that he probably really isn't dating a 23 year old.  Somehow, it made me feel like I was the reason he left).

As I saw her walk in I immediately knew who she was.  And my heart jumped to my throat.  Would he be behind her?  I suddenly felt naked.  

The whole time I sat there wondering if she knew who I was.  Wondering if it was him that she was texting right in front of me to say "Hey, that crazy girl you used to date is here, you know, the red headed nanny".  But I didn't think she could place me.

The end of the night came.  Others got a "Nice to meet you" from her.  I got "Good to see you".  Shit.

I don't want to care about it.  I don't want to care that he probably will hear about how I told the whole table that they weren't tipping enough.  That I really did enjoy dancing to that lame Fergie song that came on.  And that I still drink too much tequila and ramble for hours.  I don't want to care that I really do want him to know all of this.