At Some Point...
During my Facebook scroll the other day, I noted that someone I dated briefly had gotten married. The pictures were lovely... the bride was beautiful... my former date (he wasn't an actual boyfriend) was handsome. It was nice. I was happy for him.
Mostly.
No, I was.
Really. I swear.
But I realized that barring one person, every single guy I dated during the period of my post-divorce existence called 'When Diane Actually Had a Social Life' is now married. And that one? In a serious relationship.
Even my ex-husband remarried. And redivorced. And HIS ex-wife remarried!
And here I am. Lalalalalalalalalala... just sittin' here, lalalala-ing. To myself. By myself.
My marriage ended nearly 15 years ago. Fifteen. And of those fifteen years, I probably dated for a solid two of them. Maybe two-and-a-half. And I don't even remember the last date. Really. I honestly don't remember it... not when or with whom I went out (that sounds pretentious, I know, but I simply couldn't leave that preposition hanging).
That's kind of pitiful, isn't it? (The date part, not the preposition part.)
Now, for the record, I'm not dying for a relationship. If I was, I'm pretty sure I could have one. True, it might be with Cletus, the wall-eyed guy who mans the manure tank at the farm down the road, but a date's a date (amirite?).
No, I'm OK. Obviously. I have to say, I've enjoyed these past nearly-two years, living alone for the first time ever. I like not having to take anyone else into account when I want to do something... or not do something. But I do worry (where I do worry = I am scared) that I've spent so much time out of a relationship, I might not remember how to be in one. I worry (I'm scared) that I might not know how to make room for someone else... that I might not like it... or that I might just be bad at it (I didn't do so well the last time, remember?).
At some point.
Down the road.
Eventually.
My daughter just joined one of those online dating apps (joined? Is that right? Does one join an app?). Anyway, she said that her sole criteria for being interested in someone is his taste in music.
I laughed out loud.
Can you imagine?
But she's young and brilliant and beautiful and surrounded by boys.
I? Am not any of those things.
My list is longer than hers (and honestly, music doesn't much figure into it).
It actually hasn't changed too much in the past 15 years, really. But I suppose I've started to put more emphasis on kindness and compassion than I might have in the past. And less on ambition. And a whole lot on a willingness to accept me as I am, with all my faults and quirks and crappy lymph nodes and less-than-stellar credit score.
I still want someone who can give me butterflies (I'm old(er), not dead), who can make me laugh, and who can challenge me intellectually (which, if I'm honest, is probably a lot easier now than it used to be). I need someone who has a strong social conscience, who has more liberal than conservative views (core values, man), who knows how to be supportive (but can kick me into gear when necessary), and who can handle my messy car/fridge/life. I'd also really love it if he loves books and camping and travel and England (duh).
Oh, and I really (really) need someone who doesn't mind dog hair. On everything. In everything. Everywhere. (I should probably put this at the top of the list, really).
Yup. That's my dream guy in a nutshell.
Now all he has to do is drop into my lap.
...
What? You thought I was actually going do something proactive?
Bwahahahaha!
Have you met me?
Mostly.
No, I was.
Really. I swear.
But I realized that barring one person, every single guy I dated during the period of my post-divorce existence called 'When Diane Actually Had a Social Life' is now married. And that one? In a serious relationship.
Even my ex-husband remarried. And redivorced. And HIS ex-wife remarried!
And here I am. Lalalalalalalalalala... just sittin' here, lalalala-ing. To myself. By myself.
My marriage ended nearly 15 years ago. Fifteen. And of those fifteen years, I probably dated for a solid two of them. Maybe two-and-a-half. And I don't even remember the last date. Really. I honestly don't remember it... not when or with whom I went out (that sounds pretentious, I know, but I simply couldn't leave that preposition hanging).
That's kind of pitiful, isn't it? (The date part, not the preposition part.)
Now, for the record, I'm not dying for a relationship. If I was, I'm pretty sure I could have one. True, it might be with Cletus, the wall-eyed guy who mans the manure tank at the farm down the road, but a date's a date (amirite?).
No, I'm OK. Obviously. I have to say, I've enjoyed these past nearly-two years, living alone for the first time ever. I like not having to take anyone else into account when I want to do something... or not do something. But I do worry (where I do worry = I am scared) that I've spent so much time out of a relationship, I might not remember how to be in one. I worry (I'm scared) that I might not know how to make room for someone else... that I might not like it... or that I might just be bad at it (I didn't do so well the last time, remember?).
But worry (fear) aside, there's a part of me that would like to try.
At some point.
Down the road.
Eventually.
My daughter just joined one of those online dating apps (joined? Is that right? Does one join an app?). Anyway, she said that her sole criteria for being interested in someone is his taste in music.
I laughed out loud.
Can you imagine?
But she's young and brilliant and beautiful and surrounded by boys.
I? Am not any of those things.
My list is longer than hers (and honestly, music doesn't much figure into it).
It actually hasn't changed too much in the past 15 years, really. But I suppose I've started to put more emphasis on kindness and compassion than I might have in the past. And less on ambition. And a whole lot on a willingness to accept me as I am, with all my faults and quirks and crappy lymph nodes and less-than-stellar credit score.
I still want someone who can give me butterflies (I'm old(er), not dead), who can make me laugh, and who can challenge me intellectually (which, if I'm honest, is probably a lot easier now than it used to be). I need someone who has a strong social conscience, who has more liberal than conservative views (core values, man), who knows how to be supportive (but can kick me into gear when necessary), and who can handle my messy car/fridge/life. I'd also really love it if he loves books and camping and travel and England (duh).
Oh, and I really (really) need someone who doesn't mind dog hair. On everything. In everything. Everywhere. (I should probably put this at the top of the list, really).
Yup. That's my dream guy in a nutshell.
Now all he has to do is drop into my lap.
...
What? You thought I was actually going do something proactive?
Bwahahahaha!
Have you met me?
No, I will. Really. I will. I promise.
At some point.
Down the road.
Eventually.
I will.
Really.
XO,
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