citing coupledom

1 Apr

Being a first-year Padres season ticket holder is going to be awesome. After Opening Night last night, a free (pretty cool-looking) baseball cap, and some quality time with the Dad, I can’t wait for summer. I like baseball, the idea of wasting away a few hours cheering for the home team, and getting caught up in the moment. This is definitely going to be my thing.

It doesn’t, however, come without its hang-ups.

Strike One: During the National Anthem (read: within the first 2 minutes of taking our seats), they rolled out a ginormous flag in honor of our servicemen and in the spirit of general patriotism. I’m all for decadent displays of the sort, but not when my most recent ex’s father owns the fucking flag that that is being pulled across the field. Like I’m not having a hard enough time not thinking about you already? Now fucking stars and stripes are screaming your name, and I can all but ignore it up here in the nosebleed section.

Strike Two: Aptly named, as we were surrounded by people in pairs. That’s right, ladies and gents, I was surrounded by cuddling couples. It was freezing so cuddling was justified, but I just about lost my lunch when the couple sitting right next to me was clearly on their third? (maybe, fifth?) date. It was the perfect mix of each one trying to impress the other, the girl giggling, while the guy displayed his baseball knowledge. He bought her a beer and they cuddled under her jean jacket because macho man forgot to bring his own. I wanted their “lets do our best to not feel each other up until we can bang in a warm bed” outlook on life. jealous? is it that obvious?

Strike Three: Text message from said ex. Apparently he thought he saw me on the scoreboard screen. Do I believe him, or think he needed a reason to text me? I’m going to go with the latter. Thank goodness my dad was there, otherwise my numb toes would have been in his box seats three texts later. So much for restraint. Instead we traded quips via cell phones until the end of the game. I’m citing the couple referenced in strike two as the reason for my weakness.

The highlight of this demoralizing turn of events? Having deleted his phone number from my phone a month ago (in order to avoid any drunk, lonely, or drunk and lonely texts), I played dumb despite recognizing his number and asked “Who is this?” Hopefully, sending the message that I have since deleted him from my life. (Clearly a half-assed attempt at omission from said life, but none the less an attempt).

Three strikes, I’m out. Or rather he’s out. I’ll hear from him again in another month. Maybe by then I will have quit playing these games. Maybe.


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