The other night I was lying in bed struggling to head to the land of nod. Having given up counting sheep, for some reason this ol’ brain of mine decided it might be jolly fun to take a trip down memory lane and dissect some of my old boyfriends instead.
As I stalked them all shamelessly on Instagram in my dark bedroom, I began to see a recurring pattern. They were all now married with children. Yep, the boy who broke my heart after high school. The farmer with the restless energy, heck even the guy I dated last year for a red hot minute. Married. With a child on the way.
Just after midnight it hit me. I was their foster girlfriend.
For those of you who aren’t aware of this new term, according to Urban Dictionary, a ‘foster girlfriend’ is a girl who dates men until they find their forever girlfriend. A girl who intentionally doesn’t want to be with a guy long-term.
As I frantically scrolled through social media profiles, it really became apparent. I had filled in time for these blokes, listened to many of their, ‘I’m just not quite ready for a girlfriend’ speeches (and said a fair few of those speeches myself) and to be fair, had a marvellous time with them before they turned on their vacant taxi light and picked up the next traveller for a life of commitment and dirty nappies.
I claim that I’ve been single for seven years, but in actual fact I’ve just hopped from one mini-kinda-sorta relationship to the next. Wanting to know why, I decided to delve deep into the case of my apparent ‘foster girlfriend’ status and really examine the evidence.
To start with, I looked at my lifestyle. It could be argued that I am terrible at texting. I don’t have much time for dating if I’m snowed under with work, I can’t stand it when a guy stays over and then wants to spend the rest of the day with me. “Thank you, yes we had a lovely time, now off you choof,” and I enjoy the cute cuddly part of the relationship minus the responsibilities.