Small, small world

Back in 1991, after Metro dumped me for the "sure thing" that only lasted 6 months, I enlisted the help of an internet friend to meet men of a higher standard. He helped me write an ad that I posted with Yahoo singles and he read all the responses, sending on to me the ones he deemed worthy. My friend was of the opinion that I, as a female, was unable to distinguish the nature of my respondants' motives, and generously offered his services, as a male, to cut through all the bullshit and let me know what these potential suitors were really up to.

Only a few were sent my way, and one of them I kept pushing to the bottom of the pile, but come February, I had eliminated the others and was left with the Ex. We emailed and spoke on the phone and decided to meet at a restaurant near my home.

"But first I have to tell you something. And it might be a deal breaker," he said.

Oh shit, he's married, I thought. "Ok. What is it?"

"I'm native American," he stated rather anticlimatically.

"Ok...."I wasn't sure why this was supposed to upset me, but seeking to relate to his plight, I added, "I have 3 tribes coursing in my veins; it's no big deal."

Ok, ok, ok. For any and all native Americans that may be reading, I apologize. This was before I graduated from the Ex's program of re-education.

So we met and shortly after we were seated he tells me, "I really am native American and I can prove it."

Honest to God, if he hadn't told me I never would have known because he looks just as white as me. "Ok," I answered, wondering why he thought I required proof and why it would matter anyway.

He dug in his wallet and pulled out his ID card from the Nation. Sure enough, in black and white, was proof that the Ex was a card carrying native American. "What tribes did you say you are?" he asked me.

Again, I apologize. I really was stupid enough to be proud when I answered, "Cherokee, Blackfoot and Crow."

This lead into a Q & A session on his nation, native American rights, matrilineal succession, stereotypes, etc. The Ex, to his credit, explained everything thoroughly and didn't laugh at my stupidity. He acknowledged that it wasn't my fault I was ill informed; I was, after all, a product of the white majority education system. And thus my learning of native American affairs was begun.

He then turned the conversation over to me and several times I mentioned "my ex-boyfriend". He asked what had ended our relationship, and I gave him a brief synopsis, slipping his name Metro at one point after having mentioned where Metro worked.

"What did you say his name was?" the Ex asked me.

I felt myself blush and the tips of my ears were burning. Sometimes intuition smacks me upside the head, and this was one of those times. "I think maybe I better not say anymore."

"It's Metro Politan, isn't it?"

The air in the room got really heavy and things started to go black around the edges, and I realized I had made a huge error. "Please tell me you're not like his best friend in the world or something," I heard my mouth say, as my brain was telling me to climb under the table and hide until it was all over.

"No. I don't really know him. I graduated with his sister. Rest assured, Trisa, that what he did to you, he's done to many before you."

Now, just how is that supposed to make me feel better? But the Ex wasn't done yet, he had details.

"Metro was known in high school for not doing anything athletic. He might mess up his hair or get smelly. And he had an affair with the drill team coach after graduation. She was young...."and he went on and on. And on. Pretty much the Ex ruined Metro in my eyes. And I got much more than I bargained for.

Beware, ladies, when you're out with someone new. Don't divulge too much information, cuz you never know how small the world really is until it's too late.