July 16, 2011 § 9 Comments
My friend Philip’s dad left Philip’s mum for another woman twenty or thirty years ago.
She has not only never married again, she has never had another man since.
She is abjectly miserable; just wading through life, fully alone, impatient for oblivion.
God forbid, I do not want to be like Philip’s mum.
It’s funny how many people tell me about women they know – often their mums – who never found anyone else once their husbands left them for another woman. (Just as never in the history of the world has a man left his wife for an older woman, nor in the history of the world has a man – however much he pleads innocence and, boy, do these men have a gift for denial – left his wife to be alone. Fact: men only leave their marriages if a younger woman has already started cunting her way into his life. And no one try to tell me otherwise.)
My friends invariably tell me that these left-women at best might have scored one desultory date or another in twenty years, but have never managed to pull off a relationship with another man.
I don’t know why people tell me these stories. I hope the implication is that I am, of course, not going to be like their mum, but I am not so sure.
On rainy days like today, house empty, and not going anywhere, it just feels like more evidence stacking up against my chances of meeting anyone, let alone Mr Right; feels like more grist to my lack-of-hope mill.