I want to be your girlfriend – the most terrifying words that have come out of my lips in a very long time. Technically they came out of my fingers because I am basically like a child when it comes to dating and I was too scared to say so properly face to face to the wonderful girl I’ve been dating for three months. Dating as a widow is hard. For her and for me. Fucking as a widow, for me, is not hard. Toe-curling orgasms, a bit of token cuddling and a few porn star martinis while out is totally doable. But dating, like dating dating when you start to share stories from when you were little (she knows I weed in the model loo at B&Q when I was a toddler), cry on one another (over missing a cuddly toy fox that was cremated), and factor one another into timetabling (meetings are arranged so I can sneak out for daytime Starbucks dates across the road from the office), is a different ballgame. It’s a complex emotion feeling super excited and optimistic about the future with someone you fancy, yet sad at the impossibility of the life that was planned with someone you’re still in love with. I’m happy, but I cry, I’m devastated, but I’m thrilled ALL AT THE SAME TIME. Top that off with being terrified at cocking things up and being even more terrified of losing another spouse to suicide and you have me – one super emotionally exhausted, insecure wine drinking lesbian who is glued to her phone checking for notifications like a teenager with a text messaging addiction. She occupies my mind far more than my wife and it’s super exciting. I feel alive. She enhances my happiness. I’m falling for someone who isn’t my wife. Fuck.
Last night, however, I had the most awkward text conversation ever about pyjamas and cried myself to sleep. I wonder if anyone else in the world has ever written such a sentence. I had been worrying to myself that non-girlfriend (NGF) might get caught out without nightwear when staying at my place and I’d have to lend her something. The thing is, a lot of my pyjamas are ones that my wife and I shared. I rid the bedroom of everything that was hers, pretty much, but the pyjamas remain out of physical comfort and my love of all things fleecy with ridiculous animal print #SexyAndIKnowIt. Heck, I only ever get to wear suits and power dresses otherwise so I can never have too much nightwear, right? I do not want her wearing, cuddling or even attempting to borrow anything of my wife’s and I know she also would 100% not be ok with that. The thing is, I stupidly and clumsily decided to tell her that all of this had gone through my mind, resulting in an ‘awkward turtle’ moment where neither of us knew what to say out of sheer horror that the topic had come up. Conclusion – no borrowing of pyjamas allowed at my house.
NGF is still not my girlfriend. She didn’t say yes and she didn’t say no, but she’s still here and we’re talking about stuff and the feeling weirdness. I’m absolutely certain she didn’t ever dream of going out with a widow, especially as she’s 23. I think it’s my boobs that redeem me in this situation. Phew. Plus, she bought me a posh advent calendar and nailed it. I also bought her one and nailed it because it has Minions and a teddy on it. I’d be such a good girlfriend second time around. Sigh.