I have noticed recently that some people treat you as ‘short of a few brain cells’ once you become a widow. The logical side is apparently the most deeply affected, I am obviously unable to make decisions without their ‘expertise’. As I have mentioned before in my previous blogs, I have had to learn all about household finances and where to find them, I just don’t remember repeating any wedding vows that included one of us losing the grey cells should the worst happen. Of course, those of you who know me well know that I have developed selective hearing over the years, much like my dogs. I know they mean well but I have to learn by my own mistakes and that may well include a few mishaps on the dating game.
Making a decision about sharing any part of my future with someone other than Tony has mixed emotions, after all we were a partnership that had lasted 28 years and frankly, I assumed 28 more. I trusted him completely and the idea of ever loving anyone else is the furthest thing from my mind. But here’s the thing. At 25, you are attracted to that certain someone that makes your heart go boom and your nether regions go bing. At 52, you want a companion to share your common interests with but not necessarily your bed. Over the last year I have become quite the independent woman but I do miss having someone to talk to over a meal or better still, go on holiday with. Arry and Alice may share my duvet but I can’t really have a debate on current politics over a pizza.
If I could give any useful advice on filling out out dating questionnaires, I would say ask a friend. And do it with a glass or two to bring on the giggles once your ‘advert’ goes live. I have no desire to get married again or have anymore children, I think my being 52 with a 20 year old son and 10 dogs should be a clue but I would like to hope there is someone out there that fits the mould. As the saying goes, the power is in my hands. and so far I’m enjoying the experience.
“Dogs never bite me. Just humans.” (Marilyn Monroe)
Widow plus woofs 