THEY’RE NOT ALL MAGNUM P.I.

Why Are People’s Ex-Husbands So Fascinating?

They’re everywhere or I’m following them

Ex-husbands are everywhere. I’m not saying they’re taking over, but they’re making their presence known. Let me give you an example. The other day I saw an old friend. It had been years since our last catch-up. We could have talked about anything, but she talked about her ex-husband.

You’re swimming with my ex-husband, she said.

No kidding, I answered.

How did she know? I didn’t. I swim with lots of guys. I‘m in a swimming group early morning at the lake. Was she tracking him or me? I know all about tracking. I track my husband and son because they both bike everywhere and people have become such bad drivers, their tires get punctured and it makes me feel like I could save them.

The only problem with the tracking device is when my son or husband suddenly stops on the map, I have to hold my phone and yell, “ARE YOU OKAY?! WHY DID YOU STOP?” It’s futile but it calms me.

I assume a lot of people track their partners and kids without telling them. It’s a secret like Botox or Googling people from high school. We’ve all got a little NSA in us.

But I digress. I’m not talking about my ex-husband. I don’t have one yet, but other people’s ex-husbands fascinate me. Why? You ask. Maybe because when I was little, my dad was an ex-husband and I thought he was cooler than Jerry Garcia.

When mom and dad split up, dad opened a bar with his friends. He moved near the beach. We made tye-dyes with him on the weekends. We watched Loved Boat, Fantasy Island, Colombo, and Magnum P.I. together. I could imagine him starring in any one of those shows.

When we fasted on Yom Kippur, dad ordered us a stuffed pizza at midnight. The guy didn’t want us to suffer. Ex-husbands seemed free from structure or proper laundry detergent. All dad’s tube socks and underpants were pink and he didn’t throw them away. He wore them with pride.

In my era, exes were Jack Nicholsons. They were untethered, maniacal, tipsy. They flirted with our waitresses and our school teachers. They didn’t read instructions or worry about being late. I dreamed one day I’d have an ex-husband of my own.

I just had to find someone to marry and divorce first.

I was about to ask my friend for a physical description of her ex-husband when I remembered my rule — none of your business, Amy. This was not a police lineup. This was her marriage that didn’t go as planned.

My main rule is don’t ask people about their exes. It not always their favorite memory. I’d have to find her ex without prying.

I used to ask people about their exes when I was younger. That’s why I made the rule. I asked all sorts of invasive questions about exes until I realized how insensitive that was.

Let’s talk about your biggest heartbreak. Give me the juice about why your death-till-you-part didn't pan out. Who cheated? Have you ever met the woman he cheated on you with? What was she like? Was she pretty? Was she younger? Who broke it off? Was it a mistake? Were you ever really in love? Do you still talk to him? Are you friends?

I file those questions under the category of why I’m glad I’m not that idiot I was in my 20s.

I’m embarrassed I ever asked anyone about their ex. I wish I could take it back. Unfortunately, once you start taking back embarrassing events in your personal history, that butterfly effect thing happens and you could destroy the history of the world.

You might end up causing Marie Curie to date Thomas Edison instead of discovering polonium and then, where would the periodic table be? And what about the lightbulb Thomas Edison made?

What if, because I changed history, Mary Currie and Thomas Edison fell in love and then became exes causing both of them to become depressed and never invent or discover anything? Don’t fuck with history.

I had to know who my friend’s ex was without asking her any details. I had to secretly sleuth him out on my own. I took a closer look at my friend. I sized her up for physical clues — like her appearance would alert me as to who he was.

I felt like one of those ex-ray machines in the airport that looks for guns and bombs in your luggage. But what was I looking for exactly? Remnants of fingerprint dust left from decades of marriage?

Emotional footprints indicating what size shoe had fucked up her life?

When you try to imagine what someone's ex looks like, you make a lot of assumptions. You make stupid shallow conclusions like super hot people are always with super hot people.

Insanely tall men are occasionally with itty bitty women which confuses us all when we watch them walk down the street — compelling us to say things like, “Can you imagine them in bed?”

You think things like blonds are with brunettes because blond couples look like Bond villains. Basically, you learn nothing about anyone by thinking looks tell the whole story.

The guys I swim with look similar to each other. There are some outliers but from ten feet away and with my bad eyes, they are all the same guy. The next time I went swimming after I became the ex-detective, I looked closer at the men.

Was it the handsome one covered in tattoos that looked like Idris Elba? The one with the strong Minnesota accent with the bright green eyes? Was he the one who reminded me of Woody Allen, the way I felt about Woody before he married his kid? Or was he one of the twelve sandy-blond, tousle-haired, ultra marathon, muscular men silhouetted in wet suits?

This was actually a pretty fun game. Was this what it was like to be a man? To unapologetically ogle? Back in the day when men were allowed to unapologetically ogle? What would I do next? Start slapping them in the tush and calling them sugar buns? The world was at my fingertips.

I didn’t find him. I’m not saying I’ve given up, but I can finally admit they are just like regular people. They’re in the supermarket. They’re BBQing. They buy their own lattes. They drop their kids at school. They’re timing at swim meets and crying at bar mitzvahs.

They’re not Columbo, Magnum P.I., Captain Stubing, or Mr. Roark. They’re men. They’re men who bought iPhones and forgot to turn off the tracking device.

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