After my tutoring session last night, my student's grandmother shared a delightful anecdote about her past. We were discussing names, and she told me that when she was pregnant with her only child, her late husband was adamant about naming the baby *Alex, regardless of the baby's gender. His reason was that it was the name of his high school sweetheart. Being young and easygoing, she agreed and named their daughter *Alex. Looking back, she found it a bit peculiar. She chuckled and shook her head in disbelief as she recounted the story. After 40 years, all you can do is laugh about it. I couldn't help but joke, "Well, at least whenever you're annoyed with your daughter, you have an extra reason to frown at her name."
Her story made me reconsider my thoughts on exes. Strangely, I have a knack for getting along famously with my boyfriends' ex-girlfriends. I suppose the ex and I share a key trait: our impeccable taste in men (or at least one man). In fact, one of my close friends is my high school boyfriend's ex. I met her after we started dating. I ditched the boy but kept the friendship with his former flame. Our bond only grew stronger as my relationship with him waned, given that we both ended up aiming darts at the same photograph.