Thank you, Grace Kelly, for making a night of erotic indulgences seem ladylike. I don’t have a Mark Cross bag in which to secret overnight essentials like Lisa Carol Fremont did in Rear Window, but a boxy Ferragamo works just as well. And, for those times when you don’t plan ahead, run like hell. Don’t do a walk of shame – rather, run to the nearest subway, bus, or train stop. Not out of actual shame, but because your makeup is half-eaten-off, and you really don’t need the entire worshiping congregation of the Baptist church near your latest conquest’s home to see you ambling crookedly down the street in four-inch heels, with bedhead and ripped stockings to boot.
After a very sexually-deprived marriage (how do you not have sex on your honeymoon?), and a subsequent clinical depression and various addictions to numb the pain of the void, it really was time to jump back into the dating game. And it is a game; don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. When you’re 35 +, all those familiar dating rituals and crane dances are nonexistent. What you have at your disposal are other divorcées with baggage, young men, and very strange characters that don’t fit into any tidy category. I’ve run into all of them during the past few years. More