“If a relationship has to be secret, you shouldn’t be in it.”
It was written serendipitously on a friend’s Facebook wall last week.
I was immediately quietly defensive.
“…sure, in a perfect world.”
“… but circumstances…”
“…and when there are kids involved?!”
I have no interest in exposing my kids to the changing fortunes of some halfhearted attempt at a romantic life. We all need stability, not the stomach-churning carnival ride of romance. My life is full of great people, kind and wonderful people. I’ve been doing quite well mostly on my own, thank-you-very-much.
I have learned to embrace being mostly alone, even to thrive in it. That isn’t to say that loneliness hasn’t visited, but I know how to manage her, like a difficult relative. I’m detached. I have to be. I have no time or room for love. There is no extra chair at the table. No big fellow is going to come in here and elbow anyone aside, most especially not a kid or three.
Also, there is that bit about sharing a bathroom—never.
So, um…. he’s tall, smart, wickedly witty, and unlike anyone I have ever known. We’re talking. Just talking. There’s no harm in talking, right?