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.
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.