If I had a nickel for every time I’ve been asked if I’m dating, I’d be a wealthy woman. The first time this question was posed, my husband had passed only seven months prior. I was still processing grief, anger and fear. It hadn’t occurred to me that I was now alone, and therefore seen as single. The idea of being with another man felt like cheating.
Four years later, the question is asked so regularly, it’s become my new drinking game. Married friends are titillated at the chance to live vicariously, giggling like horny teenagers. They clamor to create my online profile, randy to swipe right with reckless abandon. Oblivious to stranger-danger, ghosting, and awkward advances, this era of courtship is completely foreign to us. Dorothy’s not in Kansas anymore, Toto.
When the world shut down, I used my solo status to heal and take care of myself. Lockdowns, masks, and isolation bubbles aren’t conducive to meeting new people. That mask really brings out the crazy in your eyes… Cough here often?… I’ve worked hard to love the person I’ve become; strong, independent and confident. How can you expect these qualities in someone else if you don’t possess them yourself?
Time’s gone by incredibly fast, but after 26 years with the same man, I allow myself the grace of being unattached without worrying I’m past my prime. Quite the opposite has happened. I can honestly say this is the best version of me so far. Funny, smart, and my rack has held up fabulously. Small wonder I’m dating myself. I’m a fucking catch!
Taking myself out for a drink, shopping, or to the movies at the drop of a hat is a luxury. However, the conversation has become a little one-sided. A girl can’t be right all the time! I’m not lonely, I’m bored. I’m ready for new travel adventures and someone (with the means) to show me the world. Let’s give them something to talk about…
