A stately procession By Mitch Gregory A proud public official wrestles his ex-girlfriend for his cushy job They say you should never work with your lover. They ought to add something about fighting them over your job. Let me explain. For the past few years, I have been working as the governor's top legislative aide. It basically means I write the laws the governor wants made, and make recommendations on which policy items will be supported by the state. It's a very prestigious position that I worked towards for a long time. I was lucky to land the job, and I believed even luckier to have my girlfriend by my side. We were the talk of the office. At first, we tried keeping our romance a secret. But it wasn't long before everyone figured out what was going on, so we decided to come clean. She was well-liked at work. Starting as an administrative assistant, she didn't have the education I had. But she put in the hours and worked her way up to a kind of office manager. Her goal was to do what I did some day, and she always asked me to explain what I was doing to her. Truthfully, I did not think she was quite qualified to do what I did. I would try to tell her about why a law was written one way versus another, and she just did not seem to grasp the nuanced legal concepts. She was, however, very charismatic. What she lacked in intellect, she could make up for by being personable. There wasn't a soul in the state who would mind holding her hand through the complexities of an issue. And let's face it, she's sexy as hell. A brown skinned girl from the Caribbean, she sometimes asked me if I was with her because I had a fetish. I didn't, but she sounded like Rihanna when she talked and that turned me on to no end. She gave me the best experiences I ever had in the bedroom. Our relationship began to sour, however, over jealousy. She did not like me meeting with female colleagues about work, but she wanted the privilege of going out for drinks with other men. One time in particular, she joined me at a class taught by one of the leading advocates for legalizing professional mixed martial arts contests in our state. He was known as a lethal submission specialist, but in this beginners class we only got to do some cardio routines. It was meant to help convince decisionmakers like me that his sport was nothing to fear. My girl really seemed to admire him and she decided she wanted to stay in touch. While we were having dinner, she would sometimes text him instead of paying attention to me. This bothered me because she was so determined to keep me away from other girls. When I confronted her about it, she insisted I had nothing to worry about. The double standard really got to me, and I eventually told her it would be best if we stopped dating. She did not take it well. "So, we're enemies now?" she asked me one day at work. "No, of course not," I replied. "We're enemies. It's okay," she said as she walked off with a posture that indicated things were anything but okay. I was hoping for a more amicable split. It's bad enough to have a rough break up, but having to see her every day around the office made matters worse. Everyone knew what happened, and our co-workers were taking sides. Things took an interesting turn a few weeks later. Due to budget cuts, approximately a quarter of the state employees would be laid off. I knew there was no way we'd both be kept on board, and my job was safer than hers because the governor needed a go-to policy person. I still cared about her and didn't want to see her unemployed, but at least the awkward office situation would be resolved and we could both move on more easily. At a work cocktail party that she did not attend, a senior administration official told me something I could hardly believe: the governor could not decide between letting her or me go. While I was technically more capable, he felt she connected with people more on an emotional level. "What do you think is going to happen?" I asked, still bewildered. "Well, there is one interesting idea floating around," the official said as he finished his whiskey. "We have our annual charity event at the statehouse next Thursday. You know how part of it is a wrestling show? What if you and her squared off in the ring?" "What? Whose crazy idea was that?" I wanted to know. "It was hers," he admitted. Setting a glass containing nothing but ice cubes on the bar, he continued with a grin. "She wants to wrestle you for your job, buddy." I shook my head in disbelief as another drunk co-worker, overhearing the conversation, added his two cents. "Hey, think of it this way. We get to sell more tickets, you get to roll around with her one last time, and at the end of the night you can place your knees on her shoulders, the referee will count to three and we'll all go home." My critical thinking skills were somewhat impaired by this point, but I wondered why this inebrebriated co-worker of mine was acting like he was on my side. He was one of those rumored to be in her camp. In any event, my ego was provoked. I now wanted to embarrass her for being so brazen. Besides, the thought occurred to me that if I refused, I might have been laid off. I accepted one final round of shots. Then, right then and there, I accepted the match. "You tell the governor," I said as I slammed my glass down, "We're on." The next several days felt like an eternity. My now ex and I didn't cross paths much at work. When we did, she had a tendency to look me up and down, like she was sizing me up. It was uncomfortable. She was probably realizing what she had gotten herself into and must have been regretting her move, I thought. But I wasn't letting her off the hook now. Finally, the night came. I learned people were placing bets on our match. The smart money was on me, of course, but I was told she was a "sentimental" pick. Whatever that meant. More people had come to this charity show than ever before, raising a good amount of money for various causes. I wore loose fitting clothes, the same ones I'd wear to a workout. My attire consisted of a t-shirt that was designed for a park cleanup I helped organize, sweatpants and sneakers. She wore dark blue jeans that were ripped at the knees, a black sleeveless shirt and bright green shoes. She looked insanely attractive, and I found myself lusting for her once more. But she was not ideally dressed for a wrestling match. I wondered if her game plan was to dazzle me on sight. The bell rang to signify the start of the match. She stared at me determinedly and made a come hither motion with her finger in an almost seductive manner. I walked over to her, planning to use my considerable size advantage to take her down gently. Instead, she reached up and put me in a headlock. It alarmed me somewhat. She wasn't incredibly strong, so how much damage could that do? But it hurt my ear and I was a bit thrown off, so I grabbed the top rope. The referee informed her she must release the headlock, and she did. I assumed a more cautious posture as some of the crowd was now audibly cheering for her. We circled a few times. She tried grabbing for me again once or twice, but I wouldn't let her. Making my move, I reached for her waist. She used her left hand to hold my wrist. Then she wound up her right arm and smashed the side of her hand into my chest, life a knife edge, repeatedly. Each chop made a loud smacking sound as it connected, and my chest was stinging. My ex-girlfriend was actually striking me in the ring. I knew this was her revenge for our breakup, and I said to myself she was having all the fun she was going to have. It was time to stop playing around and send her packing. She voluntarily let go of my wrist, and I knew that was my cue. Before I could do much, however, she landed one final chop on me. This one was the hardest yet, and I was temporarily stunned. Facing me, she placed her arms around my neck. While I considered ways to break what was becoming a choke, she inserted her foot through my legs and hooked it around my ankle. Then she fell backwards in a sudden motion with her arms still in place, tripping me forward and driving me down face first. I didn't know what she managed as we now were both on the mat, but I told myself she couldn't do that again if she tried. While I was giving myself a pep talk, she was working. She wrapped her legs tightly around my right arm, rendering it unable to move. Meanwhile, she clasped her hands together with one arm pressed into my face. I was lying on my stomach with her arranging her body into more of a sitting position. It was hard to breathe, but more than that, she had the leverage to put pressure on my neck and shoulder. A few attempts to escape failed, and I found myself in wonderment of her technique. I was in more discomfort than pain, but most of all impressed with her ability to maintain the hold. "Tap out," she urged. Tap out? Now we were going too far. I gave her props, but there was no way I was submitting to her. And hand her my job, that I worked so hard for and deserved more than she did? Nice try. But there was a problem. I really couldn't escape. My left arm was free, but her positioning made it impossible to break her grip. I learned strength wasn't the most important factor here. I would have to inch towards the ropes, which would force the break like it did before. This was not guaranteed, but it was my only option, so I had to make it work. Otherwise, the match would end in a stalemate since I wasn't giving up simply because she kept me in a hold. She quickly sensed my defiance and began increasing the pressure. Now I was in real pain. This became more serious than I thought. Could my ex really be on her way to taking my job? Not a chance, I decided. Still too far from the ropes, I attempted to move her arm off my face but found no success in my compromised state. She knew the power she had over me, and she was frustrated that I would not admit defeat. "Tap out or I'll tear off your fucking shoulder," she now insisted. She put everything she had into the hold. I could actually hear pops and feel my right shoulder begin to tear. It was the most excrutiating moment of my life, as I realized she could have inflicted this pain the whole time had she wanted. I'm not sure if I made any noises with my mouth. I like to think I was dignified enough to stay quiet -- maybe the part of her arm covering my lips ensured that -- as I slapped the mat for mercy. The bell sounded but she maintained her grip for a few seconds that felt like forever. I was now tapping out on her arm to make sure she got the message. The referee acknowledged her as the winner. After she released me and returned to her feet, she stood over me and held eye contact long enough to soak in the mixture of hurt and defeat in my soul. That evening, I was told I would have three days to gather my belongings and turn in the key to the office. I went on social media the next day and saw she had already changed her job title to mine and was posting new professional headshots that featured her smiling more proudly than I'd ever seen. Someone commented that he had a new idea for a law, and she replied: "Great! Let's sit down and discuss next week." The fight that changed it all was two nights ago. On Monday, she begins her new role as my successor. I will look for a new beginning in the private sector and try to come to terms with the fact that my ex-girlfriend outsmarted me, triumphed over me and violently removed me from public life.