My high school boyfriend is my favorite ex-boyfriend. He is the only ex-boyfriend I'd ever think about having sex with again. And not because he's so hot (and he certainly was extra delicious in high school), but for comparison purposes. "I'm so much better, right?" Is really the question I'd like to ask. Yes. I'm that competitive. And that insecure.
He's married to an aide to a senior republican senator and leads the happy life of a 1950's housewife in suburban Virginia. So even if Mr. Foxypants weren't the avatar of all that is good and beautiful in my life, my comparison would still not happen any time soon. My ex is still cool though. The last time I called him was right after 9/11, which is the last time I checked in with a lot of my pre-college friends. Although he now shows in galleries across the country, at that point in time he had just been written up for the first time in art publications for a large painting entitled "People I hated in High School." No. I didn't make the list. The source material for the piece was his high school yearbook which he chopped to bits.
In my seemingly endless purge of stuff from my house I came across my old year books, which I'm sending to my high school ex. Maybe more good art will come out of bad 80's hair.