You know how one minute you’re in a happy and fulfilling marriage and the next you find out that your husband of 20 years has been cheating on you with someone 10 years younger? Well, I do.
I went from country club wife and mother of high school students to a single, 39-year-old “cougar.” In this weekly feature, I will share with you all the mind-boggling, head-scratching, is-this-someone’s-idea-of-a-joke moments from my so-called single life. Consider this your private invitation to my tremendous learning curve…
Triggers and bad ideas
Four years after the fact, I’m living a happy, productive life and feel, for the most part, healed. If you’ve been in my spot, please embrace the certainty that your days of ingesting copious amounts of wine, having to deal with daily drama and alienating your friends with your bulls*** won’t last forever.
I still have moments and triggers however. They are few and far between, but they exist and I recently had one.
I have finally sold my house after almost a year. On the day my realtor delivered the news, I had been working all day, and at 6:30 p.m I was in a decidedly bad mood. Why was that? I should have been happier than a fat kid during a DQ Blizzard sale that my house sold, but I was glum. I figured out why. For the past two decades when something cool happened, I had someone to join me for a drink, laugh, talk, toast and then go home and bend into a human pretzel. I don’t have that anymore. And at times, that makes me grumpy.
To jump or not to jump
This was one of those times. I work from home, so I was going to be damned if I was going to sit at home pouting and dwelling on what was not. I was going to celebrate what was. So I took my happy a** to the neighborhood Outback Steakhouse for some ahi tuna and a glass of wine. Alone.
It takes a lot of nads to do this. I never know if some creeper is going to hit on me, or if I’ll meet cool people. This night I had no expectations so when Brent, the gorgeous can’t-be-much-older-than-26 bartender, struck up conversation with me, I was content. I wasn’t looking to meet the love of my life — my only objective was to not sit at home alone deciding whether or not to jump off my second story balcony.
Brent and I discussed our shared interest in certain hobbies and had a nice conversation. I noticed my wine glass kept getting refilled. When I went to leave, I had at least two, possibly three glasses of wine swooshing around in my gut. Let the humiliation begin.
Wanna be my friend?
I went home and hopped on Facebook. And friended Brent! I said some nonsense about if he ever wanted to do some of the things we discussed, let me know. How humiliating! I was that girl now? I was the girl who went home, stalked and friended bartenders who are paid to be nice to me? But, it didn’t end there. In my wine-induced state of mind, I went right ahead and sent my ex-boyfriend a woefully inappropriate text message.
I woke up the next morning horrified. After my separation, I had to teach myself to not go out, get liquored up and bring cute boys home. Now I had to train myself not to drink and Facebook. (Brent lessened my humiliation by accepting my friend request, but still. Not cool.) I can hardly wait for my next lesson in humiliation.