Ex Vexed

After moving 3000 miles to be with him, my friend Lucinda discovered that her then boyfriend/now husband's answering machine was constantly refilling with cooing, breathy messages from various women. Understandably, she was annoyed. And suspicious. At first he feigned innocence, swearing up and down that these ladies were simply friends of his. Independent research (i.e., snooping) revealed that while they might indeed be "friends" of his, they were also friends he'd fucked. One day while he was out, Lucinda snuck into his Rolodex and changed one or two digits of every remotely questionable number in the thing.

After being stymied in his attempts to return a couple of calls, her man figured things out. "I hadn't been totally honest about the history in all cases-I had to pay the price," he confirmed.

Maybe if he'd told Lucinda the deal she'd have been more understanding, but probably not. Like her, I don't really get the whole friends-with-exes thing. I guess that's understandable, as most of my long-term relationships have either been with sociopaths and/or ended catastrophically. Consequently, my phone book isn't teeming with contact info for ex-boyfriends I'm still feeling all warm and fuzzy about. Generally, when I'm done, I'm done.

Much to my consternation, my large Greek boyfriend is completely the opposite in this regard. He's on good terms with pretty much all of his exes-even the baby-talking cheater. Hell, he'd still be pals with the psycho dame who set his clothes on fire, except her controlling new husband forbids it. That he can be so forgiving bugs the shit out of me (probably because it makes me feel like a petty, horrible person), and we've had one or two (or maybe 20) arguments over it.

It's not like I actively hate my exes; I simply see no point in maintaining relationships with people who've screwed me over (that goes for humans of the platonic variety as well).

Recovering hound James told me that he stays buddies with broads he used to sleep with because "you might need to fuck them again." Um, okay. So does he make friends with his current girl's exes? Apparently not, with one caveat: "unless they are lesbians and you might be able to fuck them too." Charming.

DC-based reporter Clark had a more reasonable take on the matter. "I have found it easier to accept the ex as a friend if both people have moved on to other relationships. There's less danger of backsliding," he wisely pointed out. Hmmm. . . So entertaining late-night phone calls from lonely exes, bereft because they can't find a date, probably wouldn't fly if one were to play by Clark's rules. Hear that, honey?

Wolfgang only stays buds if he was the dumper-and even that's only out of some sort of deranged sense of guilt. "As a sort of penance, if they want to remain communicative, I comply," he admits. So altruistic, I marvel, until he adds, "also, there's always the possibility of ex sex." Der.

My thoroughly unscientific survey rather surprisingly (to me, anyway) showed that men seem more likely to take a stab at post-breakup friendship than women. (Think it might have something to do with the aforementioned ex sex?) Please know that we ladies are wise to this scam. "The former flames who slink back around on some lame 'friendship' mission are mostly just trying to keep their options open for the future," my pal Jennifer scoffed. "Or they just hate to be the bad guy and can't stand knowing some girl thinks they're a jerk."

Even worse than knowing your luv-uh man is still exchanging jokey emails with some broad he used to bang, is being forced to socialize with her. As if the fact that you've both had the same bit o' manmeat up your respective cooters somehow makes you compatible. Zelda, a well-respected authoress, was thrown so badly by this request early on in her marriage that she misbehaved horribly. "I spent the entire evening loudly and drunkenly asking everyone why I should be expected to socialize with his ex," she told me. "Needless to say, I wasn't asked to socialize with her after that." At least some good came of it.

I've been there, and though I've yet to drunkenly harangue anybody, I can certainly understand the urge. Jen points out, "I hate having to make phony happy-talk about how great it is to finally meet [the ex]." Being a much more crafty gal than I, she continues, "Inevitably, when your boyfriend asks how you liked her, you either have to lie and say she was super-duper and risk future socializing, or answer honestly that she was a twittering fool and risk being called insecure. There's no upside."

It'd be nice if I could tie all this up with a nice little bow and admit how wrong I was and how everyone should be friends with everyone, regardless of who's seen whom naked, but I can't. I'll continue to be irritated-only the next time I feel like bitching, I'll take solace in knowing I'm not the only one who gets cranked off about this crap.

*All names have been changed so I'm the only one who appears insecure and immature.