Suddenly Single Journey

It all came to a head…

Wednesday, April 7th, 2010

Monday night.

We were supposed to all go to the movies.  The plan was to spend a little more quality time with the kids before sending them off to be with their father for the rest of the break.  And I treasure my time with them.  Really, I do.

At the same time…the weekend was stressful.  Nothing went quite as I planned.  We hadn’t settled anything for the wedding.  It felt like we were getting farther and farther from our goal altogether.  And, in typical Nicki form, I just wanted things to be settled already.

It had been a long miserable ride home on Sunday.  We were all over-tired.  We had another disappointing breakfast.  It was actually the same breakfast as the morning before.  So, that wasn’t helping matters.

HE was a bit snappish.  And I was tired of trying to placate everybody.  I was tired of doing everything.  It felt like it was all me, all the time.  Later, I realized that we were playing to our strengths.  He had washed the cars while I unpacked and started laundry.

Dinner was…okay.  We decided against spending any more money so we assessed the contents of the fridge.  It was egg pancakes, regular pancakes, and bacon for dinner.  Then, when everyone complained that they were still hungry, I made the rest of the wings in the fryer.

It just…was a bit tense.  We had survived our first car trip with the kids.  We had my mom around most of the trip.  And we hadn’t had much couple time.

So, when he changed everything up on me Monday after work…it didn’t go well.  He decided that he didn’t want to go to the movie with us.  He wanted to stay home and have some alone time.  And I felt rushed to make the earlier movie.  I felt rushed to get out so he could start his glorious alone time.  I never take that well.

The movie, Clash of the Titans, was…okay.  I’ve seen so many amazing movies lately that it’s hard to get excited over this one.  I didn’t really feel for the characters.  I didn’t care what happened.  And it wasn’t all because of HIM.  It was just the movie itself.

We came home after.  I was reluctant to spend any more money.  And I knew what I’d find.  I knew it.  I knew he’d be hanging out with Ed.  And even though I knew it wasn’t meant to hurt me…I guess it did a little.  He could rally to hang out with Ed, but didn’t want to hang out with me, with us?  The kids felt it, too.

Rachel: That doesn’t look like alone time.

I know better than to approach him angry.  I know that he will only react angrily.  Still, I was upset and hurting.

me: Why don’t you call it what it is?  Time away from us.

There were lots of angry words spoken on both sides.  He was feeling trapped.  I was feeling pushed away.  And somehow, neither of us could make our point understood.  Well, I understood him.  I just couldn’t make him see me, understand how I felt.

me: I don’t want to be hurt and upset all night.  I don’t want to do this anymore.

HIM: You don’t want to talk anymore?

me: No.  I don’t.  We’ve ruined enough of the night.  Just go hang out.  I’ll see you later.

He went in the house before going back across the street.  I thought and paced in the garage a moment.  And then I went in the house.

He was standing in entry, watching the wrestling that Keenan had on television.  He looked at me and tried to paste a smile on his face.  It was…unnatural.  I stared at him and placed my hands on my hips.

me: I want a do-over.

Now the smile was real.

HIM: You want a do-over?  Let’s go.

He went back to his place in the garage.  He turned and smiled at me.  I went back to mine.  I gazed at him expectantly.

HIM: Hey, babe!  How was the movie?

me: It was okay.  You didn’t miss much.

And we talked.  We joked.  We let everything go.  It was as if the last twenty minutes had never happened.

me: I love you.  I’m sorry.

HIM: I love you, too.  Sorry for what?  Those twenty minutes never happened.

And then he did something he’s started doing ever since our meeting with the wedding planner.  He told me something he loved about me.  It usually goes like this…

“(fill in the blank) is just one of the many things I love about you.”

Who doesn’t need to hear that once in a while?  Who isn’t bolstered by a constant running list of loveable qualities?  Who wouldn’t find perfect reassurance and faith in that kind of relationship?

We’re not perfect people.  We may just be perfect for each other.  We’ve got forever to figure it out.  And we’ve got the power of the do-over when we mess up.  It’s a good life.

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I’m a survivor…

Wednesday, March 24th, 2010

Reading and commenting on posts today made me think of a parallel to my own life.  See, my premise is that this relationship with him has been a bit like a game of Suvivor.  Ummm…maybe a lot like Survivor.

It’s true that I have outlasted any of the girlfriends past.  I’m not sure that it has anything to do with outwitting.  And I certainly wouldn’t suggest that I outplayed anyone.  I don’t play.  Love isn’t a game.  It’s real and serious and should be treated as such.  It should be nurtured and appreciated, handled with care and respect.  That is probably the real reason I’m still around.  I understand this.

At the same time…there have been elimination challenges…maybe simply eliminations.  And there have been rewards…reward challenges even.  We broke up over and over again for the same reason.  He couldn’t see himself married to me.  He couldn’t see himself married to someone older, someone with kids, someone who had already been married.

Then, after a while, after all the history we made, all the bonds we built, the memories, the closeness…somehow…he couldn’t see himself with anyone else.  That’s the best place to be in.  He doesn’t want to share the rest of his life with anyone but me.  Ahh.

It was a long time coming.  I had to exhibit a ridiculous amount of patience.  I had to put my foot down at times.  I had to remember what I was worth, what I deserved, and refuse to settle for less.  I had to stand up to him and tell him I expected more than crumbs, that I should be given the whole meal, dessert, too.  Eventually, he figured it out.  After a while, he was ready to give me everything I needed and more.

I’ve seen how his feelings continue to evolve.  I can feel how much more deeply we are connected, how much happier he is than ever before.  It surprises him, but it’s a great look for him.  The ‘ritas and the sweatshirts are only a small part of it.

My bear of a man wakes up happy now.  He jokes with me and plays with me.  It was cold this morning.  The heat wasn’t on overnight and the temperature in the house was a brisk 59 degrees when we woke.  Brrr.  He had come into the bathroom to brush his teeth, then jumped back under the covers while I dried off.  I hopped in with him.

HIM: It’s cold!

me: I know.

And we snuggled close for a few minutes to share the warmth.

me: I think you should bring me my clothes so I can get dressed under the covers and stay warm.

I was playing with him.  I fully expected him to tell me to get them myself or respond with something equally playful and silly.  Instead, he had a thoughtful look on his face.

HIM: Do you have them together already?

me: Yup.

A few more minutes passed.  I wasn’t eager to move.  I still had time to relax and enjoy him.  For that, I’d make time even…

Soon, he hopped out of bed and walked to my closet.  I was confused.  Then it hit me.  He was really going to get my clothes for me so I could stay warm.

me: Awww, babe!  It’s okay.  I need to get up.  And for future reference…they are in the bathroom.

Huh.  He would brave the cold so that I don’t have to.  Very nice.

So, it’s no wonder that I try to do special little things for him in return.  There have been mixed results.  He once told me that the woman he married would be able to make French Silk pie for him.  Thus began an epic struggle to perfect the French Silk pie.  Now, you wouldn’t think it would be that difficult, right?  I  mean, they serve it at Waffle House.  How hard can it be?

Well, I tried one recipe after another.  One was too grainy.  Another was too heavy.  I must have made a half dozen French Silk pies before he told me to give up.

HIM: Babe, so pie isn’t your thing…

And he patted my hand.  Grrr.

I can bake.  Dammit.  I am an excellent cook.  Who would know that I couldn’t make the one freakin’ dessert he loved?  Double grrr.

He suggested that blonde would be a better color for me.  Right.  In case you forgot how that turned out…read this.  And soon after that, I let him pay for my hair to be chemically straightened.  It was a disaster of epic proportions.  My hair was in recovery for…well, nearly forever.  It’s just now looking like hair…again.

Then he told me that he thought the sexiest song in the world was Alannah Myles’ Black Velvet. It wasn’t the words so much as the tune and the way she sang it.  He told me if I could sing it…well, let’s leave it at that.

So, I’ll be working on perfecting that before the honeymoon.

My point, I suppose, is that the relationships that last, that endure, that survive…are the ones where the people in them respect one another and try to make the other person happy.  These relationships are punctuated with mutual appreciation, and lots of love.  The best relationships are taken seriously, often passionate, and especially playful.  These couples know how to work together, how to weather a storm, how to compromise, how to let go of hurts.

It doesn’t come all at once.  It evolves over time.  And that is why I constantly believe in the importance of time and patience, but maybe communication most of all.  Let love grow.

Quick Karma:

• make your heart as open as the sky

PS. I’ve posted a picture of the dress I’m thinking about wearing for the wedding on Wedding Journeys.  Please stop by.  I need all the feedback I can get.  Suddenly HE has decided he’s all traditional and can’t see the dress before the wedding.

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This is why I’m happier single…

Friday, January 8th, 2010

See, I’m not good at relationships, which makes no sense to me because I was married for a really long time.  And I was good at marriage.  I knew how to keep a place clean enough to be healthy and cook family meals and raise some incredibly awesome kids.  I knew how to decorate and remodel and turn a house into a home.  I knew how to be the quintessential wife.  Books could have been written about me, poems recited about my accomplishments, and buildings dedicated in my honor.  Yeah, I was that good.

And every once in a while I long to be that good again.  I long to have the right man to share this life with, only our life.  Because even though I can do all those things, I’m still pretty stinking non-traditional.  And that is the kind of life I’m comfortable with.  I like eating around my coffee table.  I have even been known to eat over my sink.  I will do late night food runs.  And I will drop what I’m doing at a moment’s notice to offer the love and support the man in my life deserves.

I just need to find a man who deserves me.  You would think that it wouldn’t be so difficult.  It’s not as though I have these ridiculously lofty standards, these impossible ideals.  No, I’m pretty reasonable, there are a lot of gray areas, things that are more than negotiable.  If I love you, I can forgive a host of imperfections, embrace any number of quirks, look beyond the surface to the diamond deep inside.

It’s just that I should never be insecure in a relationship.  It should go without saying that if you claim to love me, you should want to connect with me on a daily basis.  It doesn’t have to be something deep and earth shattering.  I don’t need to be serenaded or expect daily flower deliveries.  No, I’m more than satisfied with a simple text message to let me know you’re thinking of me.  I’ll be content with a brief phone call.  I’ll be over joyed if you actually want to see me, even for half an hour.  Just show me every day, in some small way that you care.

See, I hate hanging.  I hate feeling like a loser who isn’t even worthy of a phone call.  I hate that I get so wrapped up in whether or not there will be contact.  After a while, I think that I would rather be alone than sad.  The beauty of being single, as in not married, is that I don’t have to work things out.  I don’t have to try to make relationships fit if they don’t.

Never again will I give a man that much power over me.  Never, I say.  Never, I mean.

Guess I’ve come up with more rules for dating me…

1. You should want to connect with me on a daily basis.
2. Keep your word.
3. Don’t say things you don’t mean, make promises you can never hope to keep, or set impossibly high standards you can never hope to maintain.
4. Be honest.  Even if it’s not what I want to hear, I’ll respect you for speaking the truth.
5. Respect me.  Respect my feelings.  Respect my needs.  Okay, so you don’t feel like talking tonight…see rule #1.  Drop me a text.  It’ll keep me happy…which in turn will go a long way towards your happiness.
6. Make me a priority.  I don’t have to be first, just make me count.

As always, I reserve the right to add to, eliminate, and edit the rules at any given time and without prior notice.  They are my rules, after all.

Quick Karma…

• forgive those who have hurt you

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The art of compromise…

Sunday, September 27th, 2009

Life is all about compromise.  And learning how to truly compromise can determine the success, happiness, and general quality of life.  What we have on our side during the struggle to find the balance is time and a learning curve.  If you’re like me, you tend to not so much repeat the same mistake, but find so many new mistakes to make that it seems that you’re not making progress whatsoever.

Lately, my life has been all about compromise.  See, adapting to life with S is a huge compromise on everyone’s part.  He’s used to alone time, which is a rare commodity since he now has three extra people living in his house.  And he claims he’s used to a more exciting life, getting to go lots of places and do lots of things.  Well, in the year we dated before living together, I saw very little of this wild and crazy life he claims to have had.  There were a few nights that he went out and partied, and I know that he misses that some, but at the same time there are aspects of that life that he’s starting to pick up on.

After a while the crowd of people his age going out partying every weekend thins.  The only ones left are the complete slackers who have nothing going on in their life.  He has a much bigger life than that.  (And not just because he has me.)  After a while, he will come to realize that it’s not as fun as he remembers it being.  (He has already commented that I keep him grounded and out of a lot of the BS.)  And after a while, he should start to realize a new life, a couple life, a family life.

He’s told me that he gives me more than he has any other girlfriend.  Apparently none of the previous girls hung around his family or friends.  They were a separate part of his life.  Shocking that none of those relationships panned out.  And I don’t know whether I get more because I deserve it, or because I demand it.  I have expectations that should met, standards for relationships that I have set.  So far, so good.

And don’t get me wrong.  I’m compromising, too.  I’m cooking differently and at different times.  I’m cleaning a lot more.  ( My mother would be so proud.)  I’m working harder to get ahead than I ever have.  And I’m more dedicated to losing weight than ever before.  It’s different when I have someone holding me to my goals, forcing me to follow through.  I’d never want to disappoint him.  And because he doesn’t want to disappoint me, we work.

Now we’re working on a bigger compromise.  We’re raising a dog together.  Bishop is a bundle of energy, completely untrained.  He went from living in a whelping box to living in a house with lots of people and pets.  (The kitty-cows are eyeing him suspiciously, but not with complete disdain.)  We’re finding our roles in the puppy rearing.  We’re working together to tame this puppy-cow, train him in every respect.

Last night was torture.  S sleeps very soundly.  And though he has the best of intentions, the night potty runs were all on me.  There was a lot of crying and whimpering.  Bishop was unhappy, too.  I almost gave in and let him sleep with us just so I could close my eyes for more than ten minutes.  Instead, S did the daddy thing while asleep.

S: (using his daddy voice) Bishop!  Go to sleep.  Be a good puppy.

And that dog, that whimpering, pacing, puppy-cow finally laid right down and went to sleep.

me:(mumbled and feeling completely defeated) Thanks.

We’re a team.  And I love it.  S knows it.

S: You really like having me to support you don’t you?

me: Yes.  Does it make me look weak?

S: No.  I just think  you haven’t had that before.

me: Sometimes it’s just nice that everything isn’t all on me.

S: Sometimes I wish you’d let me do more.

Huh.  That I’m really not used to.  Instead of me doing all the giving and him doing all the taking, I give and he gives right back.  That’s the best compromise of all.

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You know how I do…

Sunday, July 26th, 2009

Some women need grand gestures.  They need the flowers and jewelry and chocolate.  They need the fancy restaurants.  I take and hold dear all the little things.

Last night, after we finished a lovely meal out on the patio where I ate my food grilled and he had all of his deep fried, he turned to me and jokingly apologized that it wasn’t a candlelight dinner.  And I laughed and reminded him, for the umpteenth time, that I don’t care about those things.  I know how he feels without the words.  I know how he feels without the traditional symbols.  And I fairly glow as a result.

Life is all about the little things.  It’s about…

• offering to build me a swingset in the back yard with two swings on it so he can talk to me while I swing
• buying drumsticks, even though he prefers wings because I haven’t had them in a while
• throwing two gutter balls in a row so that we end the game tied
• about kissing my boo boo, even if it’s just a tiny one
• taking the scenic route home so he can give me a tour of his life
• wanting a tour of mine
• going to Sam’s Club twice in one day so I can exchange the camis I grabbed in the wrong size
• telling me how cute I look bowling
• telling me how great I look, and meaning it
• picking me up and spinning me around when I make a strike as though I am feather-light
• making sure I have fun
• acknowledging when  I’m blissfully happy and offering to do what it takes to keep me that way forever
• ending an amazing night by holding me while I sleep

And that was just yesterday.  Who needs flowers and candlelight?  Who needs jewerly and chocolates?  Okay, maybe the chocolates a little.

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The Beauty of the Do-Over

Sunday, July 19th, 2009

In life, there are so few opportunities for do-overs.  I think this is one aspect of my relationship with S that I cherish.  And while I realize this technique won’t work for everyone, if at all possible make use of it with those you care about.  I’m talking about kids, friends, family, and most importantly: the one you love and share your life with.

I wish I could remember how it started, but I’m pretty sure I was the one who initiated it.  The key concept, however, for it to be successful, is that you both have to truly let go of the past, of the incident or issue that needs to be done over for this to work.

After having not nearly enough sleep, and sleep interrupted, (future post), I was tired when I returned from my Sumter trip at noon.  I knew S was still in bed, and I couldn’t wait to disrobe and climb back in.  I sleep best with him wrapped around me.  He didn’t disappoint, although he did talk to me for several minutes with his eyes shut.

S: Did the lawn look good?

me: Really good.

S: Did you pick Doug up?

me: No, he walked.  (See, you’re really going to want to know the reason Doug was walking, where he was walking from, and S’s involvement in the situation.  Real pager turner, huh?)

S: What’s he doing?

me: Sleeping on the couch.

And we rested some, about forty minutes.  Then he started musing about having peppered bacon and egg pancake.  And I started musing about…other things.  Well, I’m not going to explain the issues that arose.  It’s personal and private.  Let me simply say that the argument/ issue spread from the bedroom, to the bathroom, to the bedroom again.

Finally, we ended up in the kitchen at the same time, working on making breakfast at one in the afternoon.  He turned and looked at me.

S: Let’s do this over.

me: (Smiling slightly) Okay.

He pulled me into his body and began kissing me, the kind of kiss I longed for the twenty-four hours we were apart.  And the hurt and anger melted away.  And I was happy again.  We don’t like being upset with each other.  That’s a really good thing.  And while we were still locked in an embrace, he spoke to me, foreheads touching.

S: I really missed you.

me: I really missed you, too.

S: I’m glad you’re home.

me: I’m glad to be home.

And all is well and right with our world once more.  We have mastered the do-over.  The past never happened.  The hurt and anger were released.  Our day was salvaged.  Ahhh.

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It’s only Tuesday, but…

Tuesday, July 14th, 2009

I’m already working on planning out my weekend.  For those of you who know me, this is not a surprise.  The surprise would be that I don’t already have it planned.  If nothing else, I am a planner. 

So, it began a few weeks back when S realized that he was suffering from a lack of air, as he expresses it.  For a man who is used to living alone, having an insta-family can be a bit overwhelming, even if it is going well.  (And most of the time it is going really well.)  He went so far as to suggest I leave town. 

Imagine for a moment, how well I took that.  Yeah.  It went that well.  After I let go of the hurt, I thought about it.  And I miss doing things, too.  I miss running away for the weekend with my friends, going out, all the things that we aren’t able to do right now.  (S and I have never gone out together in Charlotte.  Strange, huh?  I have my theories…) 

Anyway, I’m finally going.  And I’m in a really good place about it.  I’m not leaving angry or hurt.  I’m not worried that he’ll do anything to anger or hurt me.  (This is totally new for me.)  I’m actually rather excited to be hanging out with Donna for the weekend, which means also that I’m not going far.

We’ll do the usual, spend time baking by the pool, getting pretty, and ultimately going out.  Donna suggested hitting center city.  I told her that we couldn’t crowd S like that.  We’ll be hitting the lake instead.  Rest assured, wherever we end up, it will never be the same.  We have a way of leaving our mark on a place.  That’s how it is when you hang with a thoroughbred. 

And if you end up at Whiskey River Saturday night, look for S.  He promised he would be riding the bull and that our garage monkey would film it for me.  And if you end up at T-bonz, look for me.  I’m the short, cute, bubbly, bad haired brunette, sitting with a tall, thin, gorgeous blonde. 

Hope to see you there!

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The Boxer Challenge

Sunday, July 12th, 2009

I guess it all started when I mentioned, casually, one day that I had seen some boxers that I had contemplated purchasing for S.  His interests peaked immediately.  This was, after all, the true show of how well you know a person, if you can purchase their undergarment of choice in the right size, style, etc.  And silly me, having been married for fifteen years, during which time I successfully managed to purchase underwear for the ex with no trouble at all, I imagined this would be cake.  How much better did I know S anyway?

So, I was in Sam’s Club and happened upon a three pack of boxers that I thought might work.  They were made by Izod, a nice jersey knit material, and I love him in blue.  There was a blue solid pair, and a couple of varying shades of blue stripes.  Yay.  Mission accomplished.  I had purchased boxers.  That afternoon, I proudly delivered said boxers for S’s approval.

S: These are old man boxers?

me: Huh?

S: You like old man clothes.

me: Really?  What makes them old man boxers?

So, since I had opened myself up for it, I found out that everything about them was wrong.  Everything, you ask?  Everything.  EVERYTHING.  The waist band was too big.  The color was wrong.  The stripes are old man style.  He hated the material.  Apparently no jersey knit for him.  And on and on the list went.

The boxers were returned immediately.  I decided to give it more thought before gallivanting off to purchase more boxers.  And so a few weeks passed.  And I paid attention to the boxers I was diligently folding and placing in his drawer.  One of his favorite pairs came from Express.  So, at least I now had a jumping off point.

Well, the day before my birthday, Rachel called me and told me that I wasn’t allowed home until 5:01pm.  Really?  5:01.  Not 5pm…  Anyway, so I took that as a sign that I could wisely spend that time working on buying boxers.  Confidently, with little trepidation, I headed off to Express.

It is quite possible that the sales lady had never seen anyone scour the boxer short display so seriously, so intensely, or so long.  And with considerably less confidence than I had when I walked in, I left with three pairs of boxers.  Surely, out of the three, he might find at least one pair that met his standards.  This time, arriving at the house at 5:02, I discovered that the fabric was right, but I still didn’t get his style.  And he claims he kept telling me what he wanted.  Throwing clues like bread crumbs.  Right.

Finally, thoroughly discouraged, I decided that I would go with my gut and stop worrying about pleasing him.  So, I returned the boxers.  Again.  And naturally the sales lady tried to sell me some others.  And naturally, I caved.  She called in a guy to talk to me.  He was supposed to give me insight into the male mind.  Right.  The first pair he picked out was striped.  At that point I decided to work alone.  I left with two pairs, similar print, different colors.  Colors I liked.  Colors I had seen him wear.  Colors I might just get away with.

And I didn’t rush to show him what I had purchased.  I waited.  I had a plan.  I would have a large varying selection, since my fragile ego couldn’t handle another failure.  I hit Target, purchased a few pairs there.  And with now five pairs of boxers, awaited his return yesterday afternoon.

For some reason, I was feeling very feisty.  So when he asked about my day, I quickly revealed that I had some boxers for him.

S: You think you got it this time?

me: Uh huh.  And no pressure, but if you don’t like them, I’m going to go to the bathroom and slit my wrists.

I’m not sure if it was the threat of my imminent demise or that he finally just caved and gave up.  Dare I hope I simply got it right?  He kept all five.  Yay!  Success!  And may they tide him over for a long time.  I can’t take any more boxer shopping any time soon.

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I Sit Amazed

Monday, July 6th, 2009

As sad as I was yesterday about the fallout from the Fourth, today I’m happy, hopeful, and as always reflective.  While I am reluctant to divulge much about my relationship with S, due to its intensely personal nature, I know that for many it is a subject of great fascination.

Previous posts would lead you, and not wrongly, to believe that we have had a tumultuous relationship.  Yet here we are, living together.  And no one is more surpised than we are.  We discussed it last night in the hot tub.  We have some of our best discussions at night in the screened porch that houses the hot tub.   It’s one of our favorite rooms. 

There’s something about snuggling in bubbly chlorinated water while looking out at the moon and stars and listening to the station of our choosing that helps us open up even more than normal.  As we sat there, a la the tub scene in Pretty Woman, his head against my chest, my legs wrapped around him, I asked if he saw any of this coming.  The response was a resounding ‘no.’

When we first started dating, he told me that he didn’t want a girlfriend.  I told him that I just wanted to be with him.  No pressure.  Next thing you know, we’re exclusive.  He told me he didn’t want to date anyone older or that had children.  I’m all that and more.  I told him to not judge me based on things I couldn’t change.  Now, he’s living with a woman and her two children…big, nearly grown children.

And he still stands by one last claim: we’re never getting married.  He’s even turned it into a song… and dance.

S: Never gonna do it.  Never gonna do it.  Never gonna do it never gonna do it.  Never gonna do it!  (Think En Vogue.)

It’s very cute.  And it makes me laugh.  And I don’t care one bit.  Marriage isn’t a measure of commitment.  (I learned that the hard way.)  Marriage isn’t a means to security.  ( Same lesson.)  It isn’t even a guarantee of lasting love, or love at all. 

I’ll take the man who comes home to me every night, who stays up late talking to me, who holds me like our bodies were made for each other.  I’ll take the man I can laugh and play with, who loves my singing, my quirky ways, and indulges me with time wandering the beach in search of shells, stones, and sea glass.  I don’t need to call him husband.  I don’t need a piece of paper to keep him or a ring to bind us together.  After all this time, I am still content just being with him.

Our adventure has barely begun.  We have an amazing life ahead of us.

Tags: dating, relationships, romance
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