I Love Being Fought For

I ran into my ex at Artwalk this weekend.

It was the first time I had seen him since Clint and I have been together. For a little background, this guy is a real asshole. But he's not one of those obvious assholes, no. See he's a a soul-sucker, a joy-taker, a thunder-stealer. He's the kind of guy that leaves you empty inside and makes you feel like it's your fault. He's a subtle abuser. He is the antithesis of Clint.

I was out with my old friends Nicole and Jesse and my cousin Michael. My ex passed us no less than four times, and each time I would duck out of whatever venue we were in to get away from him. So we go in the next place up and are talking to one of the artist's daughters about her mothers fantastic stained glass pieces and out of the corner of my eye I catch a shot of red hair coming my way. He reached out his arm to touch mine and a wonderful thing happened: Nicole reached out, slapped his arm down and put her finger in his face "Don't you touch her. Don't you EVER fucking touch her. Don't speak to her. What you're going to do right now is turn around and walk away."

I'll admit I couldn't even look at his face but I can imagine the surprise as he walked away. I let out a sigh of relief an put my arms around Nicole's neck. I look over and Jesse and Michael's eyes were wide and Jesse says, "Man, there was a chair right there. I totally could have broken it over his head" and we all had a good laugh. We decided that we'd had enough art for the night and headed up to Speakeasy to celebrate.

Cheers to balsy friends.

*Pictured: Jesse, Nicole, and me.