The New Kid In Town

There is big trouble in little city.

I thought the days of turmoil were long behind me. Nobody was pissing in my armoire anymore. I could cook whatever I wanted to for dinner every night. And I no longer had to stomach staring at thousands of dollars in go cart parts. But alas, it's just a new phase in the neverending story of Kiki and J-Fed.

If I had to be honest, my newfound resolve had a little something to do with new beginnings. It's been almost a year since J-Fed and I split. After going on countless dates and suffering through dead-end flings, I had almost begun to believe I was destined to be that crazy lady at the end of the street, the one who was still throwing her fist up in the air and screaming "J-Fed sucks" as they wheeled her into a nursing home 50 years from now.

Then Mr. Ex came into the picture. Mr. Ex is an enigma. Sometimes when I look at him, I have to poke him to make sure he's just not a figment of my imagination. After my last run, I've begun to doubt the opposite sex and I'm trying not to paint a picture with broad strokes. But he's still a man. That said, he's not like any of the men I know. So already he's got a leg up above the rest. The reason I bring up Mr. Ex is that it goes without saying that this new dynamic would change the tides between J-Fed and I. 

You see, with Mr. Ex around, I'm no longer prone to bad behavior when it comes to J-Fed. I don't call. I don't argue. I don't whine and cry about how he left me for another woman. I don't care. Bottom line, the Fedster told me to move the hell on. And I have. But me thinks he doesn't like it one bit.

It started the other morning when he came to drop off daughter. He was banging on the door and I was across the house in a tank top and my skivvies. I was in a rush and had not so much as a towel to wrap around me. So I cracked the door enough to squeeze daughter through, but not enough to give the prick a peep show.