Catch Me if You Can
Why is it that people think you have to be dating to be healing properly. If I don’t want to date someone, all the better for him at this moment of my life. He won’t have to drag me kicking and screaming into the dating scene and I won’t have to kill him in self-defence. Men seem to think if you are a widow, you’re available for dating after one year, while women seem to look around feeling guilty that they aren’t looking around very much. So what should we do? I’m thinking wearing a black mourning veil was an excellent method of getting through life practically if not aesthetically. If we put on makeup and look good, people think we’ve got a sign out saying Open for Service. If we don’t care about our appearance, i.e. not even trying to put on mascara while driving to work, well, we probably need to see a therapist right? Just to make sure we’re not depressed.
Widowers on the other hand, and I’ll touch on this later in detail, seem to find the year as the ultimate time frame for deciding to date again. Twelve months and it’s out the door for some candy, maybe not hard candy but at least some cotton candy. There is nothing inherently wrong with this, except that it is not how a woman normally is, and so men cannot expect we are wired the way they seem to be. Yes there are exceptions, such as the widower who vowed that no one would ever replace his wife. Yes, thanks for the word of warning, I would not trespass on that shrine for all the money in the world even if I found him attractive. For those types, they’ll still be buying flowers and lighting candles every anniversary for years later for the memory of that perfect wife, even if they marry again. Who would want to even try stepping into those shoes, let alone footprints?
So my point is, let me go my merry way, getting my life back together, taking care of myself, and if that means I look semi-good in the process, so be it. It does not mean I’m a widow hanging out her shingle, nor does it mean I need consolation on Valentines Day or any other day. No I am not a man hater, far from it. Read my post on George C if you must reassure yourself. But I hate being zeroed in on like some rabbit under the red light of a hunter’s scope, as if I have to run and hide just to make my point. Aim the scope on someone else thank you, and I’ll let you know when I’m feeling more like a merry widow and less like a war widow, because I’m still a little shell shocked. Or maybe I just like my freedom and am not ready to come close to jeopardizing that.
