It's not me, it's you

When you stop dating someone, a fascinating, almost supernatural phenomenon occurs. Suddenly one third of the population begins to drive the same car he drives. The same make. The same model. The same color. Like somehow, there was some cosmic flyer that went out to the universe that said, "Please buy/rent this car and drive it around this person as much as possible."

So GD drives a black Lexus. And I'm serious, everywhere I go now, I suddenly see these black Lexuses. I go to the supermarket. Black Lexus turning into the parking lot. I walk from the train station to work. Black Lexus humming at a red light. Jogging by the water. Black Lexus parked by the sidewalk. And I'm not talking about just any Black Lexuses, I mean, identical or nearly identical model and year. It's frigging freaky. And it doesn't help that many car manufacturers mimic Lexus's design.

So whenever I see these Black Lexuses, I tend to undergo the same three physical reactions. First, I panic: Crap, I'm wearing my reject clothes that I should have donated to the homeless but I can't because today's a laundry day! Second, I peer into the Black Lexus to investigate. Third, I sigh of relief when I inevitably see a woman or geriatric man.

Yesterday, after a nice long jog, I was walking home in my drawstring pants and sweat-stained t-shirt when I saw the Black Lexus. Oh another false alarm, I tried to assure myself as my heart palpitated. But as I commenced physical reaction number 2 and peered inside, I noticed the dark hair, the smooth jawline, the assured right hand placed at 2:00 on the steering wheel.

It was GD. Now what dumpee wants her dumper to see her looking dumpy? I immediately looked away and skirted into the nearest edifice. Which would have been fine had it not been a sex shop for gay men. As I stood by the doorway near an assortment of edible paint, I waited for a minute to pass, waited for him to pass, so I could emerge from this shop in which 90% of the equipment were incompatible with my machinery. Suddenly, I felt my phone vibrate (ironic, isn't it). It was a text with a simple question: "Having fun in the sex shop?" I felt my heart stop. A minute later, he texted, "Hello to you too." And that was it. I never responded. I simply stood paralyzed in the doorway, watching the male clientele look at me dismissively. Too frumpy and flat to be a drag, they were probably thinking.

. . .

OKAY. I'm kidding. Nothing in the previous paragraph actually happened. I'm good at inventing worst case scenarios because I frequently am living one. No, what in fact happened was, I looked away and took a side street and kept walking, hoping he didn't see me, and if he did, hoping he didn't see me see him and take a side street. Chances are, it probably wasn't GD. I mean, never mind the fact that he lives literally half a mile from me.

My message is this: People of the world, stop driving Black Lexuses. It's freaking me out!