When I was younger, before I married, I dated quite a bit. I think that would surprise you if you knew me, which you don’t. Yet.
Every date I went on was the same date, with only the male protagonist swapped out. It became so routine that I would wear the same clothes, same hair, same makeup, each and every time. Routine, and efficient. Easy.
Some of these dates would be a one-and-done deal. Some, would become a relationship, lasting months, and on four occasions, years. I would have these relationships concurrently, because after all, it would simply take too long to run this sort of massive dating experiment by dating men one after the other.
Not a single person I dated ever posed to me the question: Are you seeing anyone else? I think it never occurred to them that I could be. Or would be. That I would cheat on them many times over. They made this assumption about me. So you could say that the only thing I’m really guilty of is letting them have their assumption, which isn’t much.
Hardly my fault at all.