Hi.
This is Ginny. I don’t know how this works, and it’s only after sharing this message that I realized I accidentally added a picture of my left elbow along with it, but let’s press on.
My friends and I finished helping our younger friend, Emma, find love. She works at our assisted living center, and let me tell you, we put her through the wringer. Dancing in the park, sexy baking dates, meeting the parents, costume changes, even a fake heart attack.
It was glorious.
Here’s the thing: it all started because we were tired of seeing Emma give up on love, but not only love, on life. Watching her believe that she didn’t deserve the real, heart-throbbing, panty-dropping, life to lead with full abandon and passion, the kind of life we read about in spicy books.
She deserved to live it, and this time we could yell at her instead of at the pages when the heroine made a terrible decision (putting your whole life on hold for a man with a motorcycle and no helmet? Ma’am…).
So we made a romantic checklist. A list of all the tropes that she should try. Here’s the kicker, it wasn’t just about a slow burn, workplace romance, or forced proximity. It was about helping her see she could trust herself to fall in love with someone, with herself.
And you know what? It worked. She got her HEA.
So now we’re thinking, maybe it’s not only for Emma. Maybe it will help someone else too.
If you’re stuck. If you’re lonely. If your love story feels like it ended after one too many bad dates, or the person you thought you knew left you with a house, a goldfish, and a tax mess, maybe it’s time to write a new chapter.
Start small. Our friend started with spilling tea on a sexy psychiatrist on a bus. Yours might start with arguing over the last rotisserie chicken at Costco.
If you want a copy of our checklist, we’ve stashed it on Helen’s computer (in a fancy kind of file thing that Emma told us about. Don’t ask, it’s a whole situation).
Know this: love doesn’t go out of season like shoulder pads or crinoline.
(Helen and Betsy say I don’t need to put this, but this is Ginny. Writing on behalf of all of us, even though Helen swears she doesn’t “have any needs” ((liar)), and Betsy keeps asking me to go to the coupon thread ((she’s got a problem)). But I still love them both.)
I scroll past it. Then scroll back up.
Read it twice.
The corners of my mouth twitch at the image my mind’s forming of the women behind this post. My eyes subconsciously wander to my large bay window and the empty street outside.
Noah’s mail truck had driven by hours ago. Frank had followed his urges and barked valiantly at the poor man while he tried to deliver my mail.
What would it be like to complete a romance checklist? I chuckle at the idea. Completely ridiculous for someone my age to even think about such a silly thing.
But my fingers start to move anyway.
Username: BirdieLawson49
Okay. I wasn’t going to post. I was simply lurking. But something about this made me laugh, and ache, a little too hard not to say something. I lost my husband a little over two years ago. Suddenly. No warning. Brain aneurysm.
One minute we were arguing about lawn fertilizer, the next I was calling 911 and forgetting how to breathe. I’m not looking for romance. I mean, unless you count my mailman who keeps offering to trim my fennel plants (which is probably not a euphemism, but who even knows anymore?) and is also my dead husband’s old college roommate who I previously had a crush on.
Yeah, it’s complicated.
But I’ve realized there’s something I miss.
Being seen. Being known. Being happy. Is it okay to be tired of being sad?
I’m not signing up for a romance checklist or a dating app. Not yet. But maybe I’ll let the mailman prune the garden.
Thanks for the post, Ginny. And tell Helen she’s not fooling anyone.
Reply from: GinnyHotFlash1945
Oh, sweetheart. I read this out loud and now we’re all teary over here (except Helen, proper ladies don’t cry at things on the internet and all that, but she did blink more than usual, so she was clearly moved).
