A while back, I wrote about going out on my first date in over 40 years!  The first date went well, I thought, as did the following two.

And then he ghosted me.

It was the beginning of Covid and he hadn’t been feeling well, so I texted him to make sure he was okay.  No response.  I gave it a couple of days, then texted him again.  Still, no response. So I checked out his FB page. He’d added several posts in the days since I’d seen him.

I didn’t send a third text.  I’d got the message – loud and clear.

It wasn’t a great feeling.  I’d been so nervous about getting back into the ‘dating scene’ anyway, fearing even a small rejection after my husband’s massive one.

And here it was.

What was I going to do about it?

After my husband left me, I vowed – vowed – I would never ever risk having my heart broken again. I wasn’t going to even consider letting a man into my life again.

Maybe that had been the wisest decision? Maybe I should just stick with my original plan.  After all, Covid had put paid to social gatherings, and my life is good.  I have friends.  I am busy.  Until the pandemic, I was travelling.  A lot.

And yet…

Despite everything, those three dates had been fun.

I’m reading the book Everyone Brave is Forgotten by Chris Cleave. It’s set in the UK during WW2 and I came across this line.  “There are two kinds of dinner and two kinds of women.  There is only one combination out of four where both will be rotten.’

So maybe – maybe – when Covid is all over, I should replace the word ‘women’ in the above line with ‘men’.

A 75% chance of having a nice evening out – with no expectation of the relationship going any farther – is pretty good odds, don’t you think?

We will see.