Sweet Life Is the Sweetest Revenge

Some of you may remember the car dealer who "traded up" last year (my phrase) by dumping me for a woman who he felt would help him make needed connections for his business.

I saw him Tuesday night.

My girlfriend and I were at the rodeo and, I have to say, looking the part. We hadn't crossed the line into cowgirl costuming (this year's trend seems to be mini-skirts with boots and/or short shorts that make the hot pants of the 70s look like Scout uniforms). We weren't trying (as many implanted and tucked psuedo-blondes our age) to pull off younger or hip or anything other than comfortable.

Jeans and good living were are only adornments as we checked out the scene. A quick survey of the second gathering point netted me my prey. After a year of tsk-tsking his behavior and knowing that no matter what his choices did to his bottom line, he was the one who would come up empty, I saw him standing three feet away.

Now, at this point, I could have walked away. He didn't see me. But where would be the fun in that?

I called his name . . . He didn't hear me. . . I added his last. He looked up.

Nothing. I didn't register. And then . . .

He almost gasped. I smiled ... actually, I beamed. He was at least 20 pounds heavier and showing wear and tear. I was . . . as I said . . . totally comfortable and happy with the moment and me.

He stared then and took in every inch. I knew that the longer hair, the post-Africa glow, and the cowgirl confidence was making thinking a bit difficult on his part.

He asked how I'd been, checked on my dating status, introduced me to his friends (which I did as well), told me about his rodeo involvement, asked more questions. I answered, offered up juicy bits like the whole "I-quit-my-job-have-been-traveling-and-just-spent-six-weeks-in-Africa" line that elicited the now all too familiar "holy shit" look.

In the midst of the interview, he stopped short to add parenthetically, "My God, you look fantastic!"

I merely patted his arm and complimented him on the fact that his taste had only improved.

Two minutes into it, I realized that living well is the sweetest revenge when someone somehow thought you didn't live up to what they needed. Less than five minutes into it, I knew all I needed to know.

I suggested he might want to get back to his friends as I had merely wanted to say hi. He hung on a bit longer and finally, complied.

Later I realized that I had actually used the "shoo fly" motion as I directed his attention back to them.

The music that night was adequate. Our energy fell short before really getting to enjoy the dance floor. But nevertheless the wild, wild west was alive and well on Tuesday at the rodeo. Sweet life indeed . . .