It doesn’t happen often, but sometimes I think I should be everything I fear. I should step out from everything I am and try on what other feels like. Be that type of woman. The type I’m not.

I’ve heard advice given from weight loss to love about pretending. Pretend you’re already thin. When you think you’re already there, you’ll begin to eat like a thin person. Behave like you’re deeply in lust with your man, can’t get through a day without sneaking to the bathroom to get off. "Be the change." So it would follow that if there’s something that intimidates you, someone you can’t imagine being, you should at the very least play at it. Be the other woman.

Sometimes, I think Phil could finish this sentence, "No, way. Stephanie is NOT the type of woman to ever…" He doesn’t put those limitations on me. I do, not often, but I do. We like to think of ourselves in a certain way. I want to be one of those people who can cook a month’s worth of meals on a weekend, proportioned, frozen, reheat instructions on the freezer label beside the date. One of those people who have a suitcase packed, ready for anywhere, toiletries included. A Real Simple of a life, with a wrapping paper armoire. But that’s never the other woman. That’s safe; that’s planning. It’s not passion.

I’m challenging myself, for the month of February, the month of amore, to be the other woman. The wig’s going to be optional this year (If you haven’t tried this before, you should! I would do it again, but now that Phil knows I’ve done that for another guy, kinda takes the fun out of it, so I’ve got to get creative!)