A new distraction

Perhaps not exactly a new distraction, in some ways a very familiar distraction, but a new-to-me distraction. I met a widower last weekend, at the unofficial singles' activity.

And I learned something interesting about widowers.

Widowers are looking for more of what they had; divorced men are looking to avoid what they had. Divorced people in general are looking to avoid more pain, frequently at all costs. This leads some of them to remarry quickly or often, and badly. This leads others to be excessively skittish about making another eternal commitment.

Therefore, as one of my daughters put it, widowers have a short shelf life, because they were [presumably] happily married and want to repeat the experience. They date-with-intent, they commit, they’re off the market again in a year or so; those men who make it past that first year frequently don’t remarry.

Women who really really reeeeeely want to remarry, keep their eyes peeled for widowers, which puts said men in the unenviable position of being the lone June Bug at a Ducks Unlimited picnic.

Which leaves me in an unenviable position, myself. How much flirting is sufficient to establish that if a certain party were interested, I would not hand him his head? How much implies that I’m a card-carrying member of Ducks Unlimited and that he should run like the wind, Daniel-San?

I think that getting a Tshirt printed up for BittyBit to wear to their next ward social [he's in the same congregation as Secondborn and her family] that says “Ask me about my Nana – better yet, ask her out!” might be just a little too much, LOL.

Do I deputize my son-in-law, who thinks very highly of the party in question? How much do I pray over this? How much prayer is appropriate before it becomes nagging? The last time I prayed for righteous male attention, I got the children’s father [and to be fair to him, for many years he was truly the answer to my prayers] so I’m understandably leery. I know there are no guarantees.

On the other hand, I am somewhat comforted to find myself attracted to a man who seems to be “normal”, whatever that is. Considering that the last three men of my faith who have asked me out since the divorce turned out to be loons in one way or another, it has made me question what I am sending out into the universe that men like that would pursue me. [Never mind the question of my own initial attraction to *them*.]

Saturday night I dreamed that I was in love and getting married. Not one of those embarrassing dreams that makes me glad I’m not responsible for what my brain throws together when I’m asleep, but one that woke me up to some deep truths.

I function rather well without a man in my life, *and* I do even better when I am suitably partnered. I don’t want a man that I have to chase; I do want one worth following. I would like, please God, another hand on the tiller and another pair of eyes in the crow’s nest.

Said widower will not be at the church dance tonight; he will be visiting family out of town. [He took a call at last week's activity; I eavesdropped shamelessly while appearing intent on my knitting.]

I will have a great time anyway; I will be with my acquired brother, I will be full of allegedly delicious Mexican food, and I will have my knitting with me in case the dance is less successful than usual.

And I will be planning what to wear to the *next* singles' dance.