UNTHINKABLE POSSIBILITIES

An acquaintance remarked that he wasn't at all sure that women appealed to me, because I never seemed keen on any of the women who walked into the cigar bar. What, he wondered, was my type? Did I even like the female of the species? I tried to point out that the hard-drinking woman who hangs out with cigar-smokers wasn't exactly a magnet (other than one notable exception, who is married and likes dogs), but he wasn't having any of it. All women appealed to him, and he flattered himself that he did likewise for them.

I'm sure my ex would find him a prick.
Or leastwise a bit oppressive.

I tend to judge people with my ex in mind. We're still good friends, and I consider her an honest, ethical, considerate, sincere, and one hundred percent reliable person. A much better person than I am, and in very many ways a better person than I ever could be.

If I were a small shy Cantonese woman, I would hope to be rather like her.

Except, of course, more sociable.
No Asperger syndrome.

My ex has, over the years, constantly striven to improve herself.

I have not done anything remotely similar.

She has succeeded.


And that largely explains why we're still living together. I often say that in San Francisco you don't give up on a housemate who can be trusted around your stuff and in your life, but what it really boils down to is that good friends mean a hell of a lot, and she is someone whom I admire.

Yeah, I don't particularly care for her love interest.
Fortunately I never have to see him.


Things will get complicated if someone ever decides that I am a fairly decent person, and I discover that she is too. But the complication will consist entirely of both of us trying to be discreet, and considerate of the other people in our lives who mean much to us.
No drama, no tempests, no wrecking balls.
Tantrums and warfare are right out.

[That the other people in one's life are deserving of such courtesy seems to be a concept which is very hard for many people to bend their heads around. I'm not sure if it's a cultural failing, or a personal handicap. Largely I don't bother trying to explain it any more, and I politely ignore their well-meaning advice.]

A private life doesn't mean furtiveness, but it does imply an ability to not upset applecarts and engineer chaos.

I'm certain that the previously mentioned acquaintance would scoff at that concept. Which, perhaps, explains why his child lives elsewhere, his exes keep demanding that he drive them all over the place, and many women won't even think of going out on a date with him.
Or share food.


His life is exciting.



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