Getting Back Together with Your Ex: Can It Work?

Looking for love in all the wrong places? I sometimes think that's the story of my love life. In fact, about a year and a half ago, I outdid myself with regard to failed relationships. I decided to try the "if at first you don't succeed, try, try again" approach with a certain Mr. Ex. In other words, I went looking for love in all the old places.

Let's call him Bob -- appropriate, as "What About Bob?" just happened to be his favorite movie. Bob and I met in a psychology class at UCLA. We discussed the charms of childhood, the angst of adolescence and the torture of the teenage years during our subsequent study sessions. From there, we segued into a relationship based primarily on proximity.

Bob and I didn't really have that much in common outside of school. He liked to go to the movies; I preferred theater. Bob always wanted to dine at a restaurant; I only persuaded him once to relax over a dinner that I had prepared at home (and he insisted on going to a restaurant for dessert. "It just doesn't feel like a date without eating out," he complained). And even when he broke his hand playing baseball, he insisted on always being the one to drive. "It's a man's role to be behind the wheel," said Bob.

Just about the time Bob began studying for the LSAT, I immersed myself in an internship at a TV news station. When Bob was accepted at an East Coast law school, it was with a mutual sense of relief that we shared a final kiss and farewell.

What About Bob?
And then, about three years later, I was chatting at a party with a mutual acquaintance. "Hey, I assume you heard about Bob," he said casually.

I almost choked on my diet Coke. "Bob?" I repeated. "Uh, what about Bob?"

"Bob's returning to LA; he got a job offer at a law firm in Beverly Hills," said my informant.

Later, at home, I thought about my relationship with Bob. You can't go home to live with your parents again, so you probably can't (or shouldn't) attempt a "do-over" with a past relationship, I decided.

Guess Who?
And then, about a week later, the phone rang. It was Bob, eager to take me to lunch and tell me all about his new job. "And would you like to hear what I'm doing now?" I asked, curious to see if he was seeking merely a chance to parade his success or if he really wanted to attempt a friendship.

A pause. "Uh, sure," Bob said, surprised. And then, sounding hurt, "Don't you even want to get together?"

It would have felt like refusing to attend the graduation of a five-year-old from preschool. I agreed.

And so there we were, déjà vu all over again.

Well, sort of. We dined in more expensive restaurants. And Bob (always at the wheel) drove a more expensive car. But it still seemed to be a "you say toe-may-toe, I say toe-mah-toe" relationship.

The Final Night with Mr. Ex
On what turned out to be the final evening together, we had planned to attend the premiere of a play. I was very excited, and Bob had agreed with me that we should leave early enough to find parking nearby so we could make sure to get a good seat. We had planned to dine after the performance.

I dressed carefully in a new outfit, complete with matching shoes. I had even taken the afternoon off to get my hair done. When Bob knocked, I opened it looking forward to his praise.

"Listen, I'm starving," was Bob's greeting. "I can't wait until after the play. Let's eat out first, and then we can still make the show if we hurry."

I groaned. "How about if I fix you a sandwich that you can eat on the way, and I'll drive?" I asked hopefully. Bob scowled.

"You know that I hate sandwiches for dinner," he said petulantly. "And if I eat while someone else drives, I get car sick and throw up."

And on that appetizing note, we were off. Bob announced that he wanted to go to a restaurant about five miles in the opposite direction from the theatre. The dinner preparation took so long that by the time we finally made it to the theatre, the usher informed us that we would have to wait for intermission before entering the theatre. Otherwise, we'd interrupt the performance.

Bob shrugged. "I didn't really want to see it that much anyway," he said to me. I just looked at him in silence. "Uh, you want to go for coffee?" he offered, sensing something was, ahem, wrong.

"I want to go home," I said.

And that was the end of my attempt to re-kindle what, in retrospect, was not ever destined to work out. In my experience, there's a reason that an "ex" became an ex. And now, if you'll excuse me, "What About Bob?" is just about to start on TV.