I was brought up in a cold climate, and I don't mean the weather. Having survived the angst of my teenage years, I have been on a quest for love ever since.
Now, a year after my divorce, I yearn to find someone who can't live without me. Has this impaired my judgement, made me rash and crazy? With my heart on my sleeve, I've become fair game, and what a game it turned out to be.
It was a wet Sunday night and I was taking a last, longing look at JDate on my computer before going to bed. Questions ran round my head: "Is this box ever going to deliver a wonderful man or just another sad loser?" Mind you, does that make me a sad loser for looking?
And then the email dropped into my inbox. "CEO of American company coming to live and work in London seeks lovely lady. You look lovely, can we email?" I admit it - my head was turned.
Looking back, I still cringe and want to lie in the road and let the traffic run over me when I think how stupid I've been.
We exchanged emails, traded sweet nothings and promises. I was seduced - I wanted love. Only thing was, he wanted lust - he's a man, after all. But everything lined up. "Love is blind," they say. Well, I don't know if it was love or me. Blind and stupid.
I should have smelled a rat when he told me his two sons didn't speak to him, nor his ex-wife. In my defence, he seemed like the real deal. Educated, witty, intelligent, had degrees, was successful and solvent. Even the fuzzy little photo on the website couldn't hide the fact that he looked normal. He sounded normal too, when we spoke on the phone. But what can you really tell?
"You're the one, it's beshert, destiny," he told me, before we had even met. Did I mention that my head was turned?
Online it's easy to give yourself away, be anyone - very different from doing it in real time, face to face. After all, how many people have told me they knew someone who knew someone who had met someone and fallen in love online? Actually, not many, but I'm an eternal optimist.
So my CEO flew to London and I looked after him for a week. We laughed together and I liked him and felt good, and by the end of the week I told him I loved him. Maybe that's why I feel so betrayed. I knew something wasn't right - woman's intuition. Meanwhile, he met my mother, my friends, drank coffee in my local coffee shop, sampled North London life. Now my mother asks after him. He's waiting for me in America, I lie.
From safe back home in the States he emailed, explaining why I wasn't "the one" after all. It was the old story - a previous relationship he couldn't let go of. "In my head, we had three in the bed, you me and my ex-girlfriend," he confessed.
I tried to be furious with him, but women always blame themselves, first port of call. I tried not to feel too hurt as I headed for the fridge.
My learned daughter (all 19 years of her) pointed out: "How come if he was with you, he couldn't just be with you?" Indeed. Personally, I think we were four in the bed - me, him, the ex and a plastic box called Dell.
But nothing is straightforward. He wants to be friends and there was undeniably a connection between us. So we keep on emailing, polite, no flirting, which is hard for a serial flirt like me, although he bends the rules and says: "We will meet again, you're wonderful."
So, do I live in hope or lie in the road?