Today I realized that I was that woman. When I wrote the blog There’s a Reason I was certain that I was not that woman who could know that a man was married and continue seeing him. I had myself convinced that it was just friendship. It’s been a long time since I’ve met someone I could sit and talk to for hours and actually have a legitimate conversation with. There’s only been one other person like that for me recently and ironically he is taken, too. Maybe it’s a pattern. I’m sure there is something psychological to it all.
Anyway, I was at work tonight and Mister stopped in. And when he walked in, my heart stopped, and then did a little flutter. I took my break and we talked for a bit and I walked back inside and realized that I cannot be friends with this guy. If he had been a slimeball kind of guy and never told me he was married, I would probably be in love with him by now. Unless he was a slimeball all the way around and then I’d probably be pregnant with his kid. Ha! Ok. Bad joke. But seriously, he’s just one of those once in a lifetime guys that you meet and have so many things in common and just enough differences to keep it interesting and it doesn’t help matters that he looks like a Spartan. And I’m not “the other woman” material, but for a moment the thought crossed my mind that maybe it wouldn’t be that bad and was immediately followed by “you have to stop this” because it was getting out of hand and I could see that the faster I went down that hill without pumping the brakes, the harder it would be to stop altogether. So I told him (again) that we can’t see each other any more. And he agreed.
I’m not gonna lie and say there’s not a little tiny selfish part of me that hopes he comes to his senses and realizes that if a woman cheats, she’s already checked out and divorces her, and calls me in 6 months, single. I would like to tell you that the other part of me wants him to get over what happened and live happily ever after with his wife and kids, but I would be lying. The other part of me is an even bigger more selfish part that wants to make pretty little Hawaiian babies that ride surfboards and eat spam. I’m totally kidding. I don’t want to have any more kids. But I’d help raise his and I’d learn how to surf and how to eat spam. And make him breakfast and rub his back til he fell alseep every night. I think you get the point of why I can’t see him anymore.
I wish I could say I felt a little bit of relief, but I don’t at all. I just feel sad. Like when you find the cutest puppy in the world and can’t find it’s owner and as soon as you give him a name and decide to keep him, the owner shows up to take him home. You want to be happy but you’re just sad for yourself. But like all sadnesses, I believe this, too, can be fixed with a pint of Ben & Jerry’s Karmel Sutra and a little Game of Thrones.