Right. Are you ready? Because before we get going here, I need to make it absolutely clear that none of this was my intention. Not one bit of it.
First of all, I’m supposed to be writing a novel about grief, sex and narcissism, rather than a blog about dating. Although it could be argued that they add up to much the same thing.
More importantly, I wasn’t expecting to be dating at all at this age and stage of life.
Fifteen years ago I had the most beautiful wedding a girl could have, and then I did a ton of therapy, so the odds should have been in my favor. But it turns out that we all marry the one person who will challenge us to grow where we need it most. And I grew – like a buckthorn hedge. Tall, strong and unstoppable; non-native to Minnesota and working hard to protect people’s privacy.
Which is why the names shall be changed.
Including my own.
My name is Annie Bell. It’s a derivative of my real name but different enough to afford me a modicum of privacy in my professional capacity, never mind a fantastic alter-ego. Annie does things that I would never do, like take an Uber to dinner, use a pay-as-you-go-mobile (which I’m reliably informed is called a “burner”), flirt outrageously on a first date and spend Valentine’s Day with a former boss.
In fact, Annie is having rather a lot of fun.
So much so that her girlfriends have begged her to regale them with tales of her experiences, allowing them to live vicariously and to participate voyeuristically through a juicy-detailed blog.
So …. to my stunning community of fabulous, supportive women, and to the tall dark stranger who was the first person to meet Annie over a chocolate cake and two spoons in a sad Embassy Suites wannabe hotel on the wrong side of Scottsdale, this blog is dedicated to you.
You know who you are.