Hey, I know you!

The scene: me in a bar.

The cast of characters: me, Mike, Steve.

The world: small.

I'm sitting there in the bar, minding my own business. I've been hanging out with this group most of the night--talking, drinking, etc. (Well, I wasn't drinking--I'm not supposed to on this medication I'm on to end the world's longest, most fucked up throat infection.) Mike and I were chatting about God knows what: women, music, using music to pick up women, yadda yadda yadda.

Casually glancing around the bar, I see all kinds: hot chicks, drunk chicks, rednecks, white trash . . . often some combination thereof.

And then I see someone I had not expected to run into:

Steve Bowman. The father of my ex-"wife." In a bar. But not just any bar: the one I happened to be in on that particular night at that particular time.


I'm sorry, but that is just odd. At first, I kind of turned away in a "holy shit" manner. I planned on ignoring him like the plague.

But then I started to think about it: what the fuck was wrong with me? It's not like I was doing anything wrong. And hell, Steve's a nice guy--he certainly deserved better than what my ex-mother-in-law did to him.

Also, I'm not a child. So I did the civilized thing to do. I walked up to the bar, bought him a beer, and set it in front of him. He said "hey," and we proceeded to have a perfectly civil, 30 second conversation.

No harm, no foul.

I went back to my group, laughed a bit to myself, and proceeded to enjoy the rest of the evening. Part of me is still quite amused by this. I mean, what are the odds?