OK, it is the moment you’ve all been waiting for, or perhaps the moment you’ve all been dreading.



Breakup Babe has a friend that is a boy. No, no. That would not be a boyfriend. It will be months, years, perhaps before I can ever utter that word again with the same insouciance that I used to in my young, carefree days.



Things with Indie Rock Dad get lovelier and lovelier and I expect them any day now to blow up in my face.



Did we catch the train?



I don’t know.



Maybe? I feel the wind blowing in my face and the sweet smell of adventure coming my way but I feel like this baby could derail at any second.



Or, to switch metaphors, I feel like we’re climbing a mountain, ice axes in hand. It’s a gorgeous mountain, and when you look up, there are glaciers and meadows and waterfalls as far as the eye can see. When you look down, it’s a sheer drop. Thousands of feet. So if you look down, you get scared. You lose your nerve.



And we look down a lot.



But we’re still climbing. And that's something.



Meanwhile, GalPal #1, newly single and on a rampage, has demanded that I hand over South African Boy to her, as a swing dancing partner if nothing else.



When I protested, she said I was making “double dibs” and that it was "unfair. "



He still doesn’t know about me and IRD, despite the fact that we drove right past him on the way to work today. (My heart, needless to say, went to my throat).



But nothing is happening on that front, platonic dating relationship aside. We’re good friends and that’s that. We’re hallmates and that’s that. He wore a tank top today and I lusted after his muscles but that’s that.



Must let go. Must share. Must not hoard. After all, my own life is pretty full.



But isn’t hoarding a survival instinct?