let's talk about ex, baby

At the supermarket the other day, I was almost totalled by some lunatic pushing a rogue trolley. Before I smacked him over the head with my shopping basket I realised it was my ex, George.

As an aside, George has long been known as The Drought Breaker as by the time we met, I'd gained enough weight to not look like a freak, but hadn't had sex for something ridiculous like eight or nine years, which I suppose kept me firmly in the freak category anyway. Hmm.

As another aside, I'm on good terms with all but one of my exes, though 'all' suggests a vast number of them. There's only been a few, what with my long hiatus and all, and bar one, I share a good relationship with all of them. It's ironic that Stef is the only one with whom I don't.

So anyway, George has a four year old son called (wait for it) Christopher, who is in George's words, the best mistake he's ever made. It didn't take George long to notice that I'm pregnant now, and when he learned that my child is, like his son was, a surprise, and that it's just us making up this family, he looked me deep in the eye, placed his hands on my shoulders, and assured me me that 'This is a good thing. You know that, don't you?'. It was a lovely moment, so warm and tender, and I could tell he really meant it. Then his gaze dropped, and his eyes widened as he whistled appreciatively at my much bigger boobs. I could tell he really meant that too.