T.M.I.

As I was leaving the house this morning, I ran into the landlord's ex-fiance in the hallway. I attempted to slip back into my side for "something I forgot", but she'd already cornered me.

She held up a pair of women's pajama pants she'd found in his side and demanded to know if they were mine or my roommate's. They weren't.

With that awkwardness out of the way, I inquired as to whether she'd heard from her ex and whether or not he posted bail.

He apparently has, but can't leave the county until his court date. So, according to her, he's currently in Naples "living like a playboy" until then.

Being an obvious glutton for punishment, I asked her what she meant.

She informed me that he sent her a picture message several days ago of him at a Swinger's Club. And there were "many bare breasts" in the picture. (Which he'd sweetly captioned with "You're sure missing a good time!")

I'm assuming the shock/horror on my face was evident because the very next sentence out of her mouth was, "Oh, this shouldn't surprise you! When I still lived here, there'd be nights I'd hear his desk chair squeaking and find him jacking off to live internet orgies...it was a major problem in our relationship."

I. Was. Completely. Agog.

Granted, I've known he was a dirty pervert...but that's just not something you expect to hear spoken out loud at 8:30 in the morning.

I numbly mumbled some excuse about being late for work and scooted out the door. And tried to choke down my rising bile the entire way to the office.

If he ever returns from his lock down/swinger's vacation, there's no way I'll ever be able to look him in the eye.

Or hear the phrase "squeaking chair" without wanting to hurl.