Memoirs from the Handicapped Stall

I just did the silliest thing. Thank god nobody can read my brain. I just crossed the street to my favorite bar in downtown Raleigh, The Borough, and spotted my ex coming up the sidewalk with Unidentified Blonde Female. I ran inside, straight into the handicapped stall and locked the door. I froze. I weighed my options. Leaving the bar would be ridiculous and juvenile. But the thought of drinking by myself with him and Unidentified Female in the same building was creating some serious stress levels. No, I thought, shake it off, grow a pair, it’s been over a year since you’ve seen him, this day had to come, you yourself have a marvelous boyfriend who makes this ex look like chopped eel liver, and you are having a good hair day, so pull on your big girl jeans, and strut out of the handicapped stall. So I did.

I found a table in the corner with an overstuffed armchair, propped up my laptop as a shield, and after a good ten minutes of avoiding eye contact, I looked up and saw it was not him at all.

Oh, how silly am I. Don’t tell anyone.