One of the other men who attends these events regularly comes with his wife and she never lets him get more than four feet away from her. I don’t know what he does when he has to pee. She amuses me to the end of the earth and back again. She dresses her husband up in tee-shirts that say things like: “I love my wife,” “I’m with her” and “Taken.” They’re probably special ordered from the Pussy-Whipped-and-I-Know-it Club. He looks bored most of the time and rather like he wishes he could be home working with wood in the basement. I’ve never talked to the guy. Oh, my, I value my eyes too much for that. I’ve never seen another woman talk to him, either, and so if figure there must be a back story to explain that. Or maybe those tee-shirts come with a secret widow repellant---one spray on your guy and he’s good to go for the day without you having to worry your pretty little head about poachers.
Do widows really poach in other women’s back yards or is it just an urban myth to explain why widows get cut from the guest lists of so many social events planned by their formerly two-by-two world? I can’t image putting designs on any of my friends’ mates. For one thing, I know all their flaws. For another it’s not in my DNA to lust after forbidden fruit even if it happens to be low hanging fruit---the occasional husband who make passes behind their wives’ backs. Who wants a guy like that? My dog has better morals and he’s been known to hump the throw pillow in the living room.
I have no interest in finding a man but my experience at the senior hall gives me some idea of what younger widows will go through when they are finally ready to put their toe back in pool. I hope it happens for them like it did for my older brother. He’d been widowed about two years when he found himself on a class reunion planning committee with a woman he’d known in high school. He was a football player and she was a cheerleader and both of them were dating people they ended up marrying. Now they are burning up the highways of America, traveling and having a good time. I can’t picture myself doing that. Been there, done that---the traveling part---but I’m happy for him. He had a rough few years of care giving to my sister-in-law who had full blown, early onset Alzheimer’s. After he and his lady-pal had been dating five-six months I told him, “If a year ago someone would have told me you are planning a trip to South America I would have told them they were crazy.” He replied: “I would have told them the same thing.” The moral of that story is, obviously, that anything is possible.
I don’t know if it’s because my first year of widowhood is coming to an end or if it’s because 2013 just began but I’ve gotten serious about planning a daily and monthly schedule so I don’t keep drifting my life away. Between the senior hall events, writing, keeping my antique booth stocked, and doing the mundane things one does just to keep up with the world I’ll be as busy as I want to be. And the dating pool? It’s filled with minnows with fin rot. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it. ©
|"Dating Pool" painting by Betty Key|