STANK

"I don't get it. When I'm through with someone, I'm through. I never think about them again."

I had heard this argument before, usually from guys who are surprised that I'm friends with an ex. They not only don't understand why I would want such a horror to happen; they don't understand how it possibly could. I explain my ex-ship rules, to no avail. Once they wash their hands of someone, they very deliberately don't look back.

Pity. They're missing out on a unique kind of friendship. And just as much, they're missing out on a unique kind of closure. For every Allie, who's very much still a grudging participant in my life, there are a dozen Holy Fucking Shit Girls.

They weren't necessarily girlfriends, but I definitely had put some effort into dating them. And long after those efforts ceased, I got a glimpse where their life's arc had carried them after me, and I exclaimed "Holy fucking shit."

My dodged bullets tend to fall into one of these categories:

The bun warmer said she never wanted to have kids, and now she's surrounded by four children on her Facebook picture.

Defining characteristic then: incredibly fun

Defining characteristic now: incredibly religious

The ticking bomb was arrested two weeks after I broke up with her and consequently fired from her civil service job. She moved back in with her mother.

Then: seemed kinda nuts

Now: kinda nuts

The innocent bystander spent her time before and during our courtship complaining about all the guys in her orbit, guys she'd never, ever led on. They could handle neither her unambiguous message nor proximity to her radiant beauty. And then she spent her time after our courtship saying the exact same things about me. Oh.

Then: constantly fending off the "unwanted" advances of men

Now: zero healthy adult relationships with men

The navel gazer spends all of her time analyzing why her obviously atrocious choices tend to reveal themselves, over time, as atrocious choices. A big fan of being told it's not her fault, she single-handedly keeps the self-help book industry afloat.

Then: "God, she's deep and introspective."

Now: "God, she never learns."

The herbalist spent most of our relationship assuring me that except for pot, her druggie days were behind her. This was a lie.

Then: making herself a pipe out of my Diet Coke can

Now: running a skanky nightclub

The professional victim is incapable of making good choices. For whatever reason, she is hopelessly incompetent. She never plans, she gives the wrong people too much credit, and she's confident everything will work out just fine, my heart attack notwithstanding.

Then: wholly dependent on me

Now: wholly dependent on someone else

The day planner is always concocting grandioise schemes. Her Indian name is She Who Talk'm Shit. At any given point in her life, she's got seven different five-year plans. School, career, motherhood, marriage, divorce, relocating, home ownership, business ownership, tap-dancing lessons, ponzi schemes: all of her much-discussed dreams have exactly one thing in common.

Then: babbled endlessly about plans on which she would never actually follow through

Now: babbles endlessly about entirely different plans on which she'll never follow through

The lily-padder insisted that the guy I thought was trying to get into her pants was just a friend. Moreover, my irrational jealousy was indicative of some serious issues I should attend to in therapy.

Then: me in her pants

Now: him in her pants

The goody-to-skank was downright virginal when we were together, but afterward started banging firemen, personal trainers, and bartenders.

Then: kinda clingy

Now: asks me to lend moral support by accompanying her to her AIDS test

I wouldn't miss seeing that for the world, hon. That's pure gold.