Less Fun Than Nut Cancer

So I had the pleasure of running into McBougie and his new boyfriend last Sunday.

Allow me to list the stand-out details of our run-in:

1. My face turning bright red

2. The new boyfriend avoiding eye contact

3. Me staring at the new boyfriend's feet and hairline

4. The conversation about my recently totaled car

5. My fixation on everyone's (including my own) weight

6. Thoughts about the inevitable status update that I'd be posting within minutes

7. The lady behind the counter conducting dual conversations with the both of us

8. Someone farting

and finally...

9. The hello and goodbye handshaking

On the drive home, I posted that shit on Facebook as fast as I could. The status read, "You know what's more fun than running into one of your exes and his new boyfriend in the auto department at Walmart? Nut cancer." Funny, right? Well he didn't think so.

Homeboy called me last night, [hammered]. He asked why I'd been ignoring his texts, then he asked why I stood him up for lunch over two weeks ago...and then he said that several of his friends had called and told him about the status. I facepalmed myself so hard that my nose almost started hemorrhaging.

If our Walmart run-in wasn't torture enough, this conversation was sending me over the edge. It was like being beaten over the head with a stapler. I was in the middle of explaining how I felt he'd crossed a line by texting/calling me when the call was dropped. I rolled my eyes, grunted, and then walked back inside.

Nothing since.

The whole incident was awkward and confusing, and I'd rather sit through an entire Katy Perry concert than relive it. But it's going to happen again. Lafayette isn't a big city. There aren't very many other places to hide. Next time I'll just have to smile a little sweeter and be a little bit more natural when I talk about my little brother's recent ejection from a lacrosse game. And maybe remember to do a little housecleaning with my list of Facebook friends in the mean time. Traitors.

Also, can we all agree that Walmart's "auto department" is the least sexual place on Earth? Ugh, just punch me in the crotch. Toothless ladies in moo-moos aside, I'm super grateful that our encounter happened here and not City Bar or Jules. That would've been a booze-soaked trainwreck.

But we can always hope for next time...