I had a date with a woman on Saturday night. From the photos on her dating app profile, I expected her to be ok looking. She was drop dead gorgeous. Soft butch, tattooed, pierced, and athletic with an amazing body and a beautiful smile.
We’d been chatting for weeks, so maybe we felt like we knew each other when we went back to her place and I spent the night. I felt so at home. Wanted and wanting for the first time in so long.
I am reminded of a song by Alison Krauss in which she seduces a recently forsaken man into forgetting about “that cowgirl as she’s walkin’ out your door.” I felt so much like I could move on. I felt like I had already moved on.
Two days later I learned that my divorce is final. I was positively nonplussed by the news.
My lady friend is now working late a lot, and may be giving me the cold shoulder. It’s her prerogative; she may not like me as much as I like her. It’s tremendously disappointing if true. But, ironically, she left me with a great deal of hope and confidence and willingness to face the future.