The funny thing about blogging is that you bang on (and on and on in my case,) about your life, having no idea if anyone is remotely interested in what you’re writing about, but you write anyway, just because. Because you can. Because it’s a release, or for support, or just because you enjoy the process of writing.
Your blog. Your rules.
When I write about dating, that’s when I really wonder whether anybody is interested. It’s dating. I’m not trying to sub-divide atomic particles (though I obvz could if I wanted to,) but it IS a part of my life, as banal as I often think it is.
However, when I went to the UK’s biggest blogging conference last weekend, BritMums Live, I was astonished by the feedback I received from people. Most people’s first question to me wasn’t “How are you?” … it was, “How’s the dating?” and the positive response I received about my dating posts has given me some encouragement to carry on.
I’M FINE BY THE WAY, THANKS FOR ASKING.
So, you bunch of weirdo voyeurs, I adore you for living vicariously through me, warts ‘n all, (not literal warts,) and here’s another dating post – especially for you.
I spent last night eBaying my beautifully rotund arse off, shopping for a dress. Not just any dress. But a dress for a date. And not just any date. DATE 3.
Yes. Finally Kate has finally progressed to a third date with a man.
I’ll wait while you recover. OK, it’s not that exciting but it’s a relatively big deal for this woman that is made of stone. A third date means that I’m contemplating a relationship with this man. It means that slowly, but surely, I’m thawing.
He went away for the weekend, working in Ireland, and it gave me that little bit of space to realise that I think I might like this man. I mean really like him. The problem was, should I tell him? How do I tell him?
I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT I’M DOING!!!!!
I literally have no idea. That sounds crazy, I know. I’m a smart woman. I’ve even passed my Cycling Proficiency Test. I’ve been promoted at work. I can mow the lawn. I run a home and a family on my own. For all intents and purposes I’m (fairly) normal. BUT … when it comes to relationships, I swear to God, I don’t know how it works anymore.
The last time I ventured into a relationship, I was 31. I think. It was a long time ago. Between me and you, that relationship damaged me to the point where I literally didn’t recognise myself. I was so low that I felt utterly and completely worthless. I pretended my Mac had broken and took a leave of absence from my online life. I didn’t know who I was.
But … I recovered/am recovering. I’m different to the person my date once knew (we dated years ago), and that’s an issue in itself. He’s getting to know the new me, and so am I in lots of ways.
Personally, I think Kate 2.0 is a much better version.
So last night, I took a big step, for me at least. I told a man I liked him.
I know, right? It’s so 1985. (I was 15)
I presumed he knew. I presumed it was a given. I’ve been on two dates with him. I’ve let the man massage my feet! But sometimes you just need to spell shit out.
So I did.
It made him smile. Made him happy. And in doing that, it had the same effect on me.
I’m 42. I’m totally winging all of this. Making it up as I go along, but I think I like where it’s going.
Oh, and if you want to know what dress I bought … it was this.
He won’t know what’s hit him.
But help a girl out – do you know how many dates until it’s a relationship?