Post-match analysis.

I was having dinner and drinks with My Favourite Ex last night. As always, we had a great time. Things may not have worked out between us (over two years ago, I might add), but any reasons why we broke up had nothing to do with our friendship. She always was and emphatically is a lovely, generous, giving, fun and self-assured person who stands as one of my most beloved people in this city.

Some things haven’t changed. She recalled how slow I was to make a move. As the running theme tends to go (judging by commentary from every female I’ve ever dated) she had no idea that I was interested until she basically asked point blank. As soon as I knew she was both consenting and enthusiastic I jumped right in. One sweet thing she reminded me of last night was that she stands as the only person I’ve ever asked out via postcard…

It went like this: I was starting to feel things towards her, but didn’t know how to ask someone to go out with me. By that stage it’d been almost a year since I’d been in a relationship and I was feeling rusty. My Favourite Ex had mentioned her love of postcards, how postcards felt like such a lovely present to receive, how her wall of postcards was one of her treasured possessions. My dilemma and her love of postcards seemed a perfect convergence. I bought a tacky, touristy Toronto postcard and wrote something to this extent:

“Dear My Favourite Ex.

I’ve been having real fun hanging out with you lately. I like how we share tastes in shows to binge watch. You’re probably the best person I know at snack selection, plus I think you’re really pretty. I’d love to date you. If you’d also like to date me, please get in touch on 647-(REDACTED) and let me know.

Cheers
-Leon”

Though I did my best, my handwriting was shaky and messy out of nerves. I spent days looking repeatedly at my phone. I had to play it cool talking with her in the mean time while I waited for snail mail to catch up. She still has the postcard, but now it stands as a pleasant relic of good times we shared.

Thing is, we don’t have the kind of chemistry that’d cause dating again to make sense. In fact, one of the ideas that arose last night was how different we both are now compared with when we dated. If we’d instead met as we are, it’s doubtful that we ever would’ve dated. The postcard then, stands as the physical embodiment of a memory. It’s who we were and why we worked. Who we’ve become will never invalidate that.

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