Disclaimer: This is not going where you think it’s going. Promise.
I’m sitting in my office practicing Stars and Stripes because holiday weekends are working weekends (in the best possible way - this is one of my favorite musician holiday traditions, only beaten by The Nutcracker).
Because I have the attention-span of a two-year old, I generally practice with the TV or my computer on, preferably blasting mindless TV or Pandora. (I’m not listening. Giving me something to tune out helps me concentrate.)
Either way, I’m sitting here with my laptop open, repeating the weird key-change section of Stars because it has to be memorized and it’s a weird fucking key-change section that my brain doesn’t want to remember, and I get a FB notification.
It is from one of FluterDude’s exes. Specifically, it is from the ex that he sort of fooled around with before dating the gal before me. She was, apparently, under the impression they were going to become exclusive after he broke up with the gal before me, but ... I happened. She didn’t really like me very much (and I don’t blame her - had I realized she had marked her territory, I’d have passed on FluterDude). She clearly hasn’t let it go, as she just tagged me in a photo.
Of her. At her own wedding.
Ladies and gentlemen, WTF.
Update: While we are still unclear whether she meant to tag me or not, her gross friends have used the opportunity to create a variety of replies to those photo talking about how beautiful the bride is and how unlucky FluterDude must feel to have missed out on this and get stuck with fat/slutty/bitchy/other negative adjectives FluterDale. Of course, I get all the notifications because I’m tagged in the photo. (Note: I am fine and I am not taking it down. Out of spite. Seriously, people? Are we twelve?)
So those of you who were taking over/unders on the longevity of the marriage? Please commence.