Moving On

I have come to the point since the demise of my marriage were I'm seeing the light. I'm discovering me and I'm understanding my children's needs better than I have before. However, as well as the strong, independent woman feeling coursing through my veins at every school run or new yoga class I join, I can't waver the feeling of loneliness. The feeling that with each step I take, there is nobody to share it with (and giving yourself a pat on the back is harder than it looks, even with the new flexibility I've gained from yoga). This is where the dating app has come in. It's filling a void; the constant chatter helps to distract me from my ex-husband’s shiny new life. The compliments (that I'm under no illusion are obviously used on each unsuspecting female on there), are just a tiny victory to my ego and to be honest even the odd-balls with their strange requests (my favourite involving pizza and private parts) are in some strange way a form of entertainment.

But; and there is always a but, shit just got real! I've been asked on a date. Now, despite my effervescent beauty and exceptionally winning personality, I’m sure you’ll all be shaken to the core to hear that I have never in fact been on a date in my whole 28 years on this planet. Yes, my husband and I  did ‘date night’, but we never dated before we got together. ( I live in West Wales and the concept of dating has only just reached us, along with mobile phones, and WiFi that can reach speeds of at least 4mbps! Fml.)

So here in lies my predicament. What the hell does one do on a bloody date? I've asked around an nobody can seem to give me the answer. All I keep getting is, "Oh just be yourself!".

Well sorry Susan, but being myself got this divorced single mum using a dating app as a form of company where she is today!

And that's just it. There must have been something wrong with me for him to just up and leave like that. I have sat in front of that mirror for hours scrutinising each tiny flaw. The fact my boobs, which used to resemble glorious Chelsea buns now just look like to empty pita bread. My baby regrowth hair is growing in all sorts of different time scales and in as many different directions possible. Is my jaw too angular? Are my freckles just too ‘freckly’? Is my nose too big? Am I too pale? To ginger? Is my bum too flat? And it's not even just my looks. I mean do I laugh too loud? Am I scattier than the mad hatter? Is my Harry Potter obsession just a bit 'extra'?  And the answer to each of those questions is yes, but no (in true Vicky Pollard style). Yes, I have all those flaws but to the right person, those might actually be my shining attributes. Maybe Susan was right.

So in writing this post I've come to realise that yes, I am all of those flaws, but no, I will not change them. I'm pretty sure I have a long road ahead of me with this dating malarkey, but I will not beat myself up about it, I will embrace it. Who knows, husband number two could be but a button tap away. 

Has.anyone.seen.my.husband