The reflex
I hear the new moon is falling in Cancer right now. I don’t know what that means. I do know I received a few signs lately that prompted me to call my ex-husband.
Husband? Yeah, I was married for 26 months, or .3 dog years. Our divorce was official around Valentine’s day 1995. The last time we chatted, it was 1999, he was remarried for a couple years and I was living in Boston.
The other day, I saw a cat in my neighborhood that resembled “our” old cat. I then received an email from a girlfriend who temporarily lived with us. Then I heard Duran Duran on the radio coming back from UCLA. They were one of his favorite bands.
I dialed and put my best southern sorority girl voice on. His wife passed the phone over and he was audibly startled to hear it was me. In fact, he paused long enough to make me believe he was mentally saying, “Marna? Hum. Who’s Marna?” We talked for a few minutes and it was hard. Real hard. The conversation reverted to chatting about our former mutual pets, our family, and our jobs. While I was listening, I was digging deep in my memory to try to understand what I found attractive. I couldn’t remember.
The next day I called Don, or as I like to call him Don who could of stopped the marriage. He used to be his friend, but then converted to my friend after the divorce. I asked him if he remembered what attracted me to my ex.
“Well, he was a metrosexual ahead of his time, don’t you remember? He liked to iron and keep things tidy and he had great hair products,” Don answered.
How easily I forget. Ex’s are ex’s for a reason and from now on I’ll be ignoring the signs. Or, as Duran Duran would say, “Every little thing the reflex does leaves you answered with a question mark.”
