I keep dipping my toe into the online dating pool. I'd started swapping a few 'hello's' with a couple of 'nice' chaps before I found the lump of doom but I never let it amount to anything in the real world because setting up a date as a single parent takes more logistics than Battleships and also because there's something a bit animal shelter about the whole experience. You list all your strengths and weaknesses, try to sell bits others may deem as baggage and try to filter and crop photos to pretend middle age is happening to those other poor bastards.
The thing is, just because I have cancer I haven't stopped hoping I might meet my someone indoors. I still want to date and I still have days where I feel normal. I ventured back on the sites a couple of days ago but partly I'm lazy and can't be bothered to type out pleasantries to strangers and then there's the whole to tell or not to tell conundrum about The Cancer.
I thought dating with kids was hard- whatever anyone tells you about things being different now and it not being an issue is plain wrong- I have lost count of all the 'shame you have kids' messages I have. I also lose count of the same number of 'actually it's a blessing as it deters w@nkers like you' sent in response. You get the picture. It's tough.
But this: 'Hey, yeah I'm good thanks, yep my photos are fairly recent. I see your profile says you like boobs. Want mine posted? They're getting lopped soon' probably would put off even the bravest of men.
I did go through a while of getting back in touch with a few of the chaps I dated after divorce but the offer of a night out with someone who needs to avoid public places, can't drink, has frequent comedy nose bleeds and may start shedding hair not out of nerves but by the clump is not as tantalising as it may sound. No, really....
I guess you could say there's plenty of time for all that when I am better. You may be right. But for me it's that whole thing of loving the beauty of those days or sometimes moments when it's not happening at all. When I don't run my hand through my hair and it feels different. It's still in situ but it's stopped moving with the rest of me. It's Autumn as far as my scalp is concerned and it won't be long before I am bald. It's all those moments when some stranger online tells me I'm pretty not realising at the other end of his message is a pale woman with a tissue damming her nose and an ice lolly to soothing her mouth ulcers.
It's the same as all the holiday tabs I have open at the moment. I can't book anything as most of next year will be chemo, surgery, radiotherapy, reconstruction but part of my head is already at the holiday park I picked in Denmark and the girls and I are swimming. All of us. Even me who never learnt.