The Ex Factor

Logic is a funny thing. When trying to sort out a dilemma, what to wear on a date or how to diffuse the attention of the person you just won’t like (ever), you do your best apply a reasonable amount of thought - even if it’s only to think of a good enough excuse.

We go to the effort of applying this much consideration to many part of the dating sphere, but there’s one shady area that logic will never be applied; often considered the crux of evil. The ex’s new girlfriend.

We’ve all been through it. The moment where you meet them. A friend of mine was particularly unlucky in the fact that she had to serve the newly adorned ‘couple’ in a fast food chain; sweat and kebabs, there really is no worse way. We’re not all so unlucky, but guaranteed after the worlds most awkward moment you wish you were wearing the skirt which makes your legs look longer, or had actually bothered to get the hair cut instead of shoving it up in what can only be described as a mess.

So we resort to unconditional hatred. The ability to think of everything that is (or could be - maybe) wrong with them. So what if they have a pool, you have a better car. Anyway, they can’t be as good as you because you were clearly the best - including in the bedroom. Say goodbye to satisfaction. The only way to get through the awkward moment is to believe that at that moment, the ex is looking at both of you and thinking ‘what have I done?!’ Unlikely, but believable when in such a dilemma.

The worst part? What if they’re actually nice. The kind new girlfriend - an oxymoron many of us certainly aren’t up for considering just yet. In this case, we could all become authors in the ‘stories to make ourselves feel better’ range. Find one bad picture of her and that’s it, she couldn’t be uglier.

It is one of the only times our friends will forgive us for being arrogant and self-centred - at no other point can we reasonably use the phrase ‘I’m better than her anyway’ and be greeted by a sea of nodding heads by those who love you. It is said friends who allow you elaborate and don’t scorn you for issuing the longest stream of swear words ever when you bump into them in a club. And it’s the best friend who runs away with you so you don’t have to see them dancing: running away no longer becomes cowardly but an insanely good idea until you’ve had a little more wine.

Maybe one day, a person with exceptional compassion, will great the girl with a genuine smile. Until then, I’m happy with ‘I don’t have to like you yet’ rule.