Known to many of us winter daters as:  S.A.D.D.

So, here I am.  Spring.  A new season. A new beginning.  As a widow, it also often makes me a bit melancholy.  I remember the first spring after Drew died. Six springs ago…but it feels like far fewer.  I saw the daffodils peeking up through the soil, and it hit me all at once and without warning:  ”It’s spring.  And he’s not here.”  ”How could he not be here?” I thought, as tears trickled down my cheeks.  Well, that’s a different topic, for a different day.  Today’s topic is a bit lighter.  I want to talk about men. Seasonal men, in particular.  And disorders.

Madeline is lucky she never date

So, spring has arrived.  The winter is over.  The snow is disappearing. I can finally see my rotting pumpkin outside my front door…right beside my “so dry it might spontaneously burst into flames” Christmas tree.  Ok, so I am not the the queen of domesticity and yard maintenance.  So sue me. I dare you!  I am in just that sort of a pissy mood this afternoon!!  My point is this:  Winter has just ended, and NEITHER of the men with whom I thought I might spend not only the entire winter season, but also the spring, summer and possibly even the autumnal equinox….NEITHER of them are still in the proverbial picture. Done. Cooked. Over.  Finis. Perhaps my judgment was clouded by lack of sunlight. Perhaps I should have been taking more vitamin D.  Maybe my 6th sense is in need of a trip to the repair shop.  Clearly, I need to check to see if the warranty has expired on my “suitable dating material” radar device.  Because, as Miss Clavell, the nun in the beloved “Madeline” series of children’s books exclaims repeatedly, “Somezing is not rrright!”

Forget “Seasonal Affect Disorder.”  That’s no biggie.  This is “Seasonal Affect Dating Disorder.”  Similar to S.A.D. But infinitely worse.  S.A.D.D.  With two D’s. If it were bra, it would not be an A cup, B cup or C cup.  But the dreaded DOUBLE D.

Miss Clavell says: "No French Kissing on a first date!"

So, Winter Man # 1 lasted from mid-fall until early winter.  Two months. Count them. One. Two.  After a disastrous ending, which could have been avoided had I used my 6th sense (or, let’s face it, merely my COMMON SENSE), I plunged wholeheartedly and with an actual head upon my shoulders (whether there was a brain in said head remains to be seen) into something with Winter Man #2. He had defined it as a “committed” dating relationship. Looking back, not only were we not “committed”… we were not even DATING. Because…drumroll please:  He was incapable of making an actual date.

Date (n.)1. a pre-planned social engagement with someone of the opposite sex.

Irreverent Widow Dating Rule #1: No date-making = no dating.

So, I suppose the entire thing is null and void.  Phew!  Now, although I found him very charming, Winter Man #2 admittedly initially entered my life as a way to soften the painful blows dealt by Winter Man #1. Because, believe me…no amount of 100 proof vodka was capable of softening THAT nuclear bomb of a relationship ending.  No.  It required something more inappropriate. More toxic.  Something fun…but with a touch of the forbidden.

Something to cause temporary amnesia.

Red Flag = DANGER!

So, I am pole-vaulting toward Winter Man #2…. and clearly not seeing the gigantic red flags in front of me.  Red flags that this man had written messages on by hand…with sharpie marker. Permanent signs. Signs that clearly were telling me, “RUN! I am not really ready to date you!!!”  But, did I run?  No. Of course not.  I did not run, because my brain was apparently on “dating auto-pilot” and my common sense remained buried in the snow next to my rotting pumpkin and my dried out Christmas tree.

Meanwhile, the man with whom I probably SHOULD have been enjoying a real winter relationship…the man who wanted to sweep me off my feet and kiss me on sun-drenched beaches and on ski slopes and in front of fireplaces while the snow was falling…that man was watching incredulously from afar as I would make a plan with him, cancel a plan with him…make a plan with him, cancel a plan with him…all while trying to decide whether I should be dating someone, no one, him, them… anyone.

Stop me! I'm getting dizzy!

Good God.  My brain was like a dating salad spinner.

As it turned out, I was completely wrong about Winter Man #2. I don’t think I have ever been quite so wrong about anyone in my life.  So here it is, spring, and I have gone through not ONE, but two winter men. I mean, really.  Two men in one short season. Sadly…now I am sitting here, wondering why I didn’t just say goodbye to both of them upon seeing those gigantic red, hand inscribed warning flags…instead of tormenting myself for an entire season.

I should have gone off on the wonderful trips with Winter Man #3.  Well…he is not just a winter guy…he is a year-round guy.  Not so much seasonal. Catch up with me in July and I’ll let you know how it’s going. Hope springs eternal.  Forgive the bad pun. Meanwhile, I am happy that the snow is melting. Happy that the daffodils will soon be peeking up through the mucky ground. Happy that my two “winter men” will soon be a distant memory as I walk barefoot on the beach. Hopefully, with the year-round guy. Who, I am happy to report, only makes my head spin when he kisses me the way he does. My only regret is that I have wasted yet another perfectly good fireplace season.

Next winter, I am taking preventative doses of vitamin D.