Now you see her, now you….see her? POF=Pffft!

well, cheers to you, my well rehearsed “widow” Oscar winner of 2009!!

For 9 months now I have been dating the most hysterically funny and charming man that I have ever had the pleasure of meeting. Good looks, great charm, everything you can imagine. The bees knees gals! Hot baths, baroque music, candles, fine chocolates, and red wine to greet me at the door after a hard days work. The whole shabam! But,… there was a catch.

My first encounter with this fella plotted from the well know and honed PLENTY OF FISH dating site….and there he was, Mr. Perfect! Except for one ‘teenie’ tiny thing. He was a 37 yr old widow. I himmmed and hawwwed. ” Widow?” I asked myself. “Shit! Did I really need the drama?” I’m a 28 yr old vibrant gal who is recently legally separated herself. I’m a MILF for gods sakes. I have a 5 year old son. Did I really need this? What the heck, I thought. We all have our Pandora’s box. Plus, if he wasn’t ready to date, he wouldn’t have put himself on a online dating site. I took the leap of faith and snuck my hand in for a closer feel on what could be.

Well….months have past and I’m still having a hard time approaching him about the dead wife stuff. “How’d it happen, Was he there when she took her graces to meet the after life? Taken so young..” I thought to myself as I strolled around his townhouse, quickly snapping images in my head of the glossy framed photographs of this stunning lady. “What had happened to her??” were the echoing vernaculars that tremored in my head. But, I waited with patience. When he’s ready to talk and tell, he will. All in time gurl….I told myself.

The drama had begun a month or so into the relationship. That holy night from which he tore into my inner soul, from stem to stern i might add, in za boudoir! oh laaa laa. My heart; my soul-it quivered. And the next day, he cried. he told me about the formed emotions of guilt and anxiety. That it was truly hard to have me in his bed. The first women to sleep in his bed since his beloved wife had past away. I bowed and took my place as I realized this was all going to be a part of our relationship, until time took care of all these things.

Then there was Valentines day. I held him, I loved him. he cried in my arms; in my hands. All over the loss of his wife. He pouted and tears fell as he nervously asked me to not be upset. He had promised her every Valentines day, that he would wear his Wedding Ring. So, I did what any loving girlfriend would do. Sat, smiled and listen ( albeit sobbing on the telephone to my mother at how miseriable Valentines day was for me and how difficult this dating a widow stuff was turning out to be)
After a while, I has simply had enough of the cutesy-wootsy allure of love that has seem to be ripped from the seams of a “tigger and pooh”, all in a poof of smoke and a flash of light. It was affecting me,.. and him… and us. Then, the day came where I had shared my contentment for this wall that was built so high; it was Alcatraz. Words HAD to be spoken. Feelings shared. My dialogue went something to the nature of this: “Sharing is an important part of building a loving, lasting partnership”..I began. I knew that everything was taken away from him. I knew it had to be difficult. I was empathetic. I tried hard to put myself in those worn sadden shoes. Tremors of tears fell from my face as I spoke into my phone that I wish to God I could simply wave a magic wand and bring this blessed woman back into his loving arms, so that he could just be happy again. But I stated the reality of it all. All we’re left with in this life is to try our hardest to remember the good times and pick up the pieces. That I am here and that he is not alone in this tragedy. Sadly, I couldn’t bring her back. Or, could I?

And then….some truth. ” I will talk to you then, I will share. I have something I would like to tell you”, he began. “There is something I do need to tell you..” ( oh.. thank God,…after 9 patient months I was ready, but I was scared. ) He continued ” Well, the way I meet you on Plenty of Fish was not totally true”. (Who really cares, I thought, maybe someone else wrote the email, didn’t matter at this point..what’s the the big news?!) Then the words crept into my ears like a thief in the night. “My wife isn’t really dead”.

WHAT THE FUCK?? Is this guy for real. The man of my dreams, the one I’ve love, and laughed, and held. Shes not ‘really’ dead. What? Does that mean shes half dead? no my friends, she has feet and a heart beat! Alive n kicking folks! He continued his story of why they were no longer together….but at that point all I heard was the crescendo of blood passing through my ears….

So to sum it up to MR. Plenty of Fish, my Mr perfect… How dare you make this entire 9 months a sham, a lie! My son played with you and liked you…a lot?! You psychotic twat. Go fuck yourself. You poor poor thing. Thats right! With your mental status…your more to be pitted than to be blamed. How did you sleep at night?? oh thats right. Thats what those sleeping pills of yours were for. Gotcha! No wonder you eat trazadone by the handfuls. you crazy fuck.

—ice cream girl

This article appears in May 14-20, 2009.