As soon as I mentioned to friends that I was separating from my husband they wanted to talk about dating. Or more accurately, sex.

“I’m not ready to think about that,” I protested. “I’m just excited to finally have some time to myself and to be able to go out with friends.”

They nodded in agreement, but quickly proceed to tell me all of the possible ways I could meet my future lover: the internet, bars, friends of friends, or look up an old boyfriend.

“Old boyfriends are old boyfriends for a reason,” they explain. “And internet dating is impersonal and risky, friends of friends are a good bet, unless the relationship ends poorly, and bars, well, we’ve all done that already and know how that ends.”

I’m impressed, and frankly surprised, that my married friends have given the dating scene such consideration. They shock me further by describing the single men they have crushes on or their ex-boyfriends.

“Are you going to introduce me to these guys?” I ask.

“No,” they scold me. “He’s my back-up boy friend.”

Another thing I didn’t know: most of my friends have a man in the wings in case their marriage goes tits up.
Sometimes the ex-boyfriend discussion starts off for my benefit. The friend shows me photos of him, sings his praises, and while telling me how perfect he is for me, gets a starry look on her face. I am quickly shoved out of the picture and she begins “friending” him on Facebook.

Other friends are more blatant, such as the one that asked, “Don’t you think after 10 years of marriage I deserve an affair?”

“Sure,” I laughed. “But it’s not really up to me. It’s up to your husband.”

“Bummer,” she groaned. “Because he doesn’t think so.”

We discussed the difficulty and unfairness (according to her) of her situation and then each left for our respective homes, where I happily read (alone) in bed and she lied next to her husband and strategized how to get a free pass to have hot sex with another man.

Eventually, the late nights of drinking wine and hearing about fantasy sex rub off on me and I decide I’m ready to date. I tell a few friends as much and eagerly anticipate the phone to ring. The problem is, saying I’m ready to date is not the same as going out on dates.

And I don’t know how to date. I met my husband when I was 24. And before that, well, how much “before that” is there?  

When proclaiming 'I’m ready to date' didn’t yield a fabulous man on my doorstep, I ask my friends how it’s done.
“Talk to me like I’m 13 or from another country. Seriously, this dating world is totally foreign to me.”

“OK," they say nice and slowly. “Say you meet someone at a party that you find interesting.”

“I already see a problem. Almost everyone I see at parties is married.”

“Then you need to start going to other parties. Or go to plays, restaurants, to hear a band, places where single people go. And don’t just talk to your friend the whole time you’re out. I know how you are, you need to look around and approach other people.”

Although this is already proving to be out of my comfort zone, I tell her to continue.

“Once you meet someone you like, you can either ask him if he’d like to get coffee sometime, which would be the least scary for you, or you could go for it and ask him to dinner.”

“What’s the difference?”

“Dinner often leads to sex, coffee is more of a get to know you thing.”

At the word “sex” I freeze.  “We’d have sex after the first date? Isn’t that kind of fast?”

“Maybe,” she says, “or maybe you’d have it the next time you went out. But before you have sex, you both need to get screened. And you need to start carrying condoms with you. You can’t expect him to have them.”

My warm and fuzzy image of dating again didn’t include any of this. Nor did it include the awkwardness of meeting someone new and not having anything in common. Or the embarrassment of having someone see me naked for the first time. Or the horror of bed head, stinky breath, and other frights, which are me in the morning.

“Never mind,” I tell my friend. “I had no idea it was this complicated. When did getting coffee start to mean so many other things?”

“It always has,” she says. “You just didn’t notice, because you were married.” 
 

Corbin Lewars is the author of the memoir Creating a Life (Catalyst Book Press, 2010) and the sexy mommy-lit book Swings (out for submission). She is the creator of the zine Reality Mom. She lives in Ballard with her two children.