From Bad, to Worse, to Mortifying

Break-ups are never easy and the longer you're together the worse the end becomes. When I broke up with Justin, for the fifth time, I was more then finished with him. I never wanted to see him again. Not so much in an 'I hate you' sort of way, but more of an 'I don't like to dwell on past mistakes.' Lucky for me the day after the final separation I left for 18 months on a mission for the LDS church and blissfully never saw him again.

Until two years later when I moved next door to him.

Yes I, Rachel Darling, managed to move into the very same apartment building as my ex-boyfriend and his new wife. To make matters worse, living in such a close proximity also meant that we would be going to the same congregation every Sunday.

Protocol and boundaries needed to be set up immediately. Without ever once saying a word to each other we agreed that a sustained silence and never acknowledging one another's existence was best course of action. And we never did cross paths again.

Until nine months later when I accidently flashed him and his wife.

It was an especially breezy day and I had recently purchased a bright pink skirt that is, shall we say, flowy? I knew the wind was howling, but the divine lust of wearing a new article of clothing to church overruled any shred of common sense. Yes, fashion over function will win every time. I devised a plan to just hold down the tufts of fabric while I was outside. The walk into church was cleared with no difficulty. It was the treacherous exit from the building when the incident occurred.

My Ben, seeing the hustle I made to get into the building earlier, went out and moved our car closer to the church door. As I stepped out in the parking lot I marched past my thoughtful man and into the parking lot filled with similar silver compacts. I quickly realized I'd walked to the wrong car, but didn't realize that it was Justin's car, at least not until I turned around and saw him and his wife walking up behind me.

You know those gears in your head that turn ever so slowly; where you see someone and one gear starts to click "You know them." click click click "You're at church so that must be where you know them from." click click click click "You should smile and explain that you're walked to the wrong car".

I did. Jovially I said, "I went to the wrong car! Haha". Mid sentence everything clicked and the gears seem to shout, "STOP Talking STOP Talking!" But it was too late; I had already broken our rule of silence. I never felt so embarrassed.

Enter then a stiff breeze from the east, my skirt up to the heavens, and my blushing levels rising. Now that was real embarrassment. I stood there; in all my granny panty glory. As the moment with the couple starring me down seemed frozen like an old western the gears in my head were the only things that moved. They told me to run away and run fast. But I didn't.

I knew that if I did shrink away it would be like giving them a part of my dignity. I decided on the opposite and stood there and laughed. I started walking towards them again (the only path I had to get back to the parked Ben) and assumed Just would start laughing with me. They didn't. And that's ok. They chose to sneer at me instead. A part of me felt sad for them as we finally passed by one another. They could've at least cracked a smile.

I learned that day that laughter is the best medicine. It works especially well for bruised egos.