San Francisco is a small town, approximately 7×7 square miles. You stand around long enough and sprinkle in some time — you’re bound to run into someone you know. That someone might even include an exboyfriend whom you haven’t seen in a year. I knew it’d happen sooner or later the same way I know that I’m going to be questioned the moment I shovel food into my mouth.

When I let my hair down on weekends, I lean towards the artsy indie rock hangouts. Earlier this month, a fashion / music / dj extravaganza at Mezzanine landed on my calendar. Statistically, I had a low chance of running into the ex because simply put: I was the creative and he was the suit. But fate likes to play dirty and roll around in the mud so there I am double fisting two drinks, one in each hand, when I feel a tap on my shoulder: “Hey…you’re looking good” he said politely — with a degree in Urban Sociology, he’d always been one of those people that knew what to say. But when I’m unprepared and tongue-tied, I head straight towards conversation skills 101:

• Graciously agree “Yea…”
• Say the same basic phrase by switching a few words around “…you’re looking pretty good yourself…”
• End with a question, so the conversation ball isn’t left in my court “…still working out at the gym everyday?”

I quickly ran out of cordial & courteous conversation so I introduced him to my friend standing beside me. The next day he im’s me outta the blue: “So…your GIRLfriend seems nice…” Because that’s how boys think: If you’re not into him, you’re obviously a lesbian.