Here’s another difference between E and I. He is friends with just about all of his ex-girlfriends. In fact, I have met a majority of the women he’s dated because he’s either invited them to our dinner parties or taken me to their birthday bashes and Sunday brunches. I am not friends with any of my exes, at least none that live in New York City.

I’m not jealous, but I do find it odd that E does not find it odd that on a given night out with his friends and I, he’s often slept with more than one woman in the room. I have often gone through careful dodging and weaving at events and restaurants to make sure E isn’t in the company of one of my exes. But even when we have met one of my old flames, he hasn’t seem to have minded.

It doesn’t annoy me as much as it might have, say, when I was in my twenties, but what drives me crazy is when he hasn’t told me that he used to date someone after I’ve had drinks, swapped weight loss tips, debated whether you’d marry, bed or kill Channing Tatum or Bradley Cooper and struck up my own friendship with that woman. I only learned last weekend that he dated one of his friends who had been to several of our dinner parties and with us on vacation in the Hamptons. And asked to spend the night at our place several times, once when I was out of town and E was home. And borrowed money from him when she supposedly ran out of cash while in Thailand for two months. Actually, now that I think about it…should I be annoyed?

Tonight, E was going to go out to a friend’s birthday (yes, one he used to date), and while I was invited, I knew if I didn’t stay behind and clean, work and get a good night’s sleep, I’d be Little Miss Crankypants the next day. I cooked chicken Ceasar salads sandwiches, because I’ve been eyeing recipes for these tasty sliders on Pinterest for a while and have been eager to try them out. There’s a few ways to do these: for one, you can just take slices of chicken, slather on your Ceasar dressing, dressed greens and parmesan cheese in a roll and call it dinner. That’s what I did. Another way is with slow cooked or poached chicken, but perhaps I’ll try that over the weekend.

I made these for E in an hour, who reminded me in 20 minute increments that he “had to go, had to go, had to go” to the friend/ex-flame’s party. Once I served them up, he ate quickly. He loved the meal–and my homemade Ceasar dressing—so much, he grabbed the food processor of homemade sauce and poured it directly onto his sandwich. “That stuff is amazing,” he said. “You’re amazing, too. I love you very much.”

He grabbed his wallet, and kissed me hard before he left to celebrate with his friends. “Give my best to the gang,” I said. Surprisingly, I found I wasn’t annoyed. For one, I happened to like the Ex-Flame Birthday Girl a lot (we’ve played many a round of “marry/bed/kill”). Also, E and I smiled at each other in that way that solid couples with 100 percent trust in each other do as he walked out. When the door shut, I didn’t feel not one jealous twang in my body.

Perhaps because I’d rather be at the party drinking Rosé with E and the Ex-Flame Birthday Girl instead of doing the dishes.

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