My new roommate had two friends visiting for the weekend and asked if it was okay that they stay in the apartment. Of course, it’s a resounding “yes”. There’s always a “yes”. This apartment has served many many visitors and many subletters and I think there’s many more to come but ANYWAY. One of the two visitors happened to be, and let’s get this clear, my ex-boyfriend’s ex-girlfriend.

So. To clarify, my roommate went to high school with both of them. And they dated in high school so technically, it’s not a big deal because I dated him after SHE did but can I just say…

AWKWARD!??????

I’ve never before met in the flesh any of my ex-boyfriend’s ex’s. That is just territory that is best left untapped. In my head, they are all 5’11 and 120 pounds with size DD boobs and they threaten me, people, they threaten me. I was firm in my belief that should a crossing ever happen, it would consist of evil death stares, perhaps a few snide remarks and possibly a girl clawing me to death in broad daylight. I, of course, would lose, being the weakest, the dullest and the one with the smallest breasts.

I planned out my weekend, attempting to sidestep the unfortunate collision as best I could. I figured I would spend the entire day on Friday working or running errands and then work more Saturday and then go home on Sunday for my mother’s birthday. There were very few chances that we would meet and it would be okay, right? I’d seen some pictures of her. She wasn’t THAT PRETTY, was she?! Holy, yes she has to be. If I had to meet her, she wouldn’t kill me right off the bat, right? They were broken up LONG BEFORE I came along and holy crap IS SHE REALLY GOING TO SLEEP ON MY PULL OUT SOFA WITH MY OLD NAVY FLEECE BLANKETS!?!?!? I AM GOING TO FREAK OUT NOWWWWWWWWWWWWW.

Friday came and she was due to arrive in the afternoon. I putzed around in the city for as long as I could before I got tired and hot and realized the sweater I put on earlier was not cutting it in the 60 degree JANUARY heat. I tried to kill time shopping but I had no money and my feet were hurting and I needed a nap and I had no choice but to haul it back to the apartment before work. I opened the door with dread.

No sign of her.

I breathed a sigh of relief and took a quick nap, cleaned up a little, showered and dressed for work, knowing I would run into her on my return. I went off to babysit looking like a rockstar. I picked out my prettiest shirt, my hottest jeans, my newest lipgloss and my best mascara, proving the theory that women do not dress up for men but for each other.

Well, the babies spit up on my jeans but I was still lookin’ fine when I strolled back to Queens a few hours later. In the apartment, Lindsay and Ted greeted me with takeout and “Erin Brokovich” but no dreaded “ex”. I even stayed up to watch the beginning of David Letterman with Ted even though I was REALLY REALLY tired. I’d hoped that maybe she’d come in while I was on the couch and I would half-heartedly wave a hand in the air and drawl out a “Heyyyy” in a really lazy cool way, avoiding the awkward Do I Shake Her Hand? moment.

Nothing happened. I went to bed.

I woke in the morning at 9 to take Ted to the airport and HOLY CRAP SHE IS SLEEPING ON MY PULL OUT SOFA !!!!!! I cannot see a face but I see long brown hair and it is SHINIER THAN MINE AND DAMN I BET SHE’S ONE OF THOSE PEOPLE WHO LOOKS GOOD WHEN SHE WAKES UP IN THE MORNING…

I tip-toed out, dropped Ted at LaGuardia, changed into sweats and headed outside to the park. I walked to the track, ran a few miles, stretched, did some abs, a regular Saturday morning routine and damnit I WAS NOT GIVING IT UP FOR THE PRETTY GIRL ON MY SOFA BED.

I quietly came back in to make breakfast around 11 am and while I was pouring a bowl of Cheerios, the sofa stirred. And someone sat up. And I am wearing cut off sweats, a t-shirt, my hair is greasy and I’m sweating profusely. She does not only sit up. She is walking towards me. HOLY.CRAP.SHE.IS.COMING.AT.ME.

“HI!!!!!!!!!!!!” says the ex, a bit too cheery for this cloudy Saturday. “I just wanted to THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR LETTING ME STAY HERE.”

I realize she is trying hard. Way too hard. But…it doesn’t bother me because I feel like that is the way I would be acting if the roles were reversed. Hm.

She plows on, “And I didn’t mean to be snoopy but I saw your headshots out on the table and that one you highlighted is SO PRETTY and oh my gosh do you need help with that? I can help you take that trash downstairs, it’s not a big deal…”

“No, no,” I say and then proceed to make a lame attempt at apologizing for waking her up and truly, I am SORRY because her stomach? is WAY flatter than mine. Her boobs? WAY bigger than mine. I am sweating into my Cheerios and she is glamorous in her pajamas and I want to sink down through the tile floor, all the way to the basement and the concrete and disappear forrrrrrrever…

I cut up a banana into my cereal and wake up my roommate because I cannot handle this insecurity and knowledge that she is prettier than me on my own. The apartment begins to wake up completely and I shower and speak when I am spoken to and she’s talking about one thing or the other and eventually I overhear her utter the phrase “And that’s why I want to be a boy for just, like, one day just to see what a blowjob FEELS like…”

I realize that maybe, just maybe I gave her too much credit.

The question is, why did I even CARE? Why do I care what she looks like, how many things she has that I don’t? Why do I size myself up that way and always pin myself as the loser? Against other women, I can never win. Not in my head. I do not like that about myself. Surely, there are great qualities in me. Somewhere, some place, there has to be an INCH of confidence about something.

The weekend ended with Troy, The Ex, The Other Friend and myself on the couch, watching Grey’s Anatomy. It was pleasant, it was fun and I knew in my heart that in any other situation, she and I might have been good buddies. The next morning, I found a crayon-colored thank you note from her, complete with her cell # and a “Call me if you’re ever in…” tag line. It was a bit much. It was overcompensating. It was…something I would do.

I think we’re all a lot more alike than we care to admit.

Peace.