If you live in Greek Life fantasy world long enough, you’re bound to encounter the inevitable: a mixer with your ex. Navigating this event is nothing short of a minefield and nearly impossible to survive with your dignity intact. Unless you have a new man on your arm that happens to be in his chapter or are somehow capable of “just being friends” with an ex (HA!) here’s an example of how it might go…
2 weeks and 6 days pre-mixer: Exec Board announces an upcoming event with his fraternity. You casually pencil it in your Lilly planner while staring straight ahead and pretend not to notice the fifty-something heads that carefully turn to look at you, gauging your reaction and prepping for an immediate breakdown. You imagine diving across the aisle and tackling the social chairs to the ground vaguely resembling the jungle/cafeteria scene in Mean Girls. Snap back to reality when you hear the topic shift to philanthropy. Phew, you’re off the hook.
Later that night: Call home and unleash anxiety and fury on the woman who gave you life. “How could they be so insensitive!?” You ask. “We JUST broke up a month ago!” Get angrier when she offers rational advice. “STAY HOME!? THEN HE WINS! YOU JUST DON’T GET IT MOM!!!” Slam the phone down. Consider inviting the new boy over for a relaxing cuddle sesh. Go online and order the entire spring line from Nordstrom instead. Sorry Daddy, it was an emergency.
2 weeks before mixer: You completely forget about your impending doom. Things are going well with the new boy…he’s super into you, really sweet, and basically everything the ex wasn’t. Don’t know why you got so worked up in the first place.
1 week and 3 days before mixer: Run into a group of mutual friends at the bar, including the ex. Successfully blow him off because you’re sooo over him. Spend the entire walk home bragging to your roommates about how cool you played it. Wake up to a text from you-know-who: “You looked great tonight. Miss u. Why don’t we talk?” Commence downward spiral.
1 week before mixer: Ex has texted you every day, and you’ve miraculously resisted the temptation to respond (you’re so cool), so you naturally take this time to laugh and make fun of his desperation with your besties. Feel proud that you haven’t responded, but secretly fear you’ll crack at any moment.
5 days before mixer: Crack. You finally answer him, but you’re not nice. You don’t let him think he has a chance of getting it in even though you know there is probably a pretty high chance of just that. After all, he’s trying really hard and you guys were just so perfect together. You reminisce about all those great times on his dirty futon watching the first half of reruns of Entourage, but were never actually able to finish because you were otherwise preoccupied. Oh wait doesn’t he have a new girlfriend now? Shit. Whatever, if he really liked her he wouldn’t be texting you. Not your problem.
4 Days before mixer: Receive e-mail on your iPhone regarding theme: Cowboys and Indians. Purchase brown fabric that you’ll cut into fringe and wrap tightly around your boobs and butt, leaving almost everything else exposed. He always thought those were your best features.
Day before mixer: Schedule lunch with your little to discuss your game plan. She reminds you that you are not to talk to him under any circumstances and if you go home with him then she will not only put herself up for adoption but also stop giving you Addy for free and 24/7 access to her closet. Vent to her about everything he put you through and listen to her tell you how out of his league you are. He’s like, not even a top-tier and this might as well be a pity mixer. She’s sooo right. You vow to keep your distance.
At mixer: He’s drunk and begging for a chance to sit down and talk, which you agree to only after he buys you a rum and diet, or seven. Listen to him tell you how sorry he is, that he didn’t mean to hurt you and how beautiful and amazing you are (fucking duh). Then the night gets blurry but you somehow spend it making out while your tears smear the Indian war paint all over your face. Wake up next to him the next morning. NBD.
Welp, better luck next time. Don’t judge me.