” I cursed the city for being so small and peeked at my watch. And that my overly friendly brunch buddy was a missionary.
Trebek would never invite a third wheel to our standing 7 p.m. “His name is Jesus Christ.” It was then that I realized the book on the table was a Bible.
What’s it like to reenter the dating pool in your early 30s … when the last time you were single, Facebook was a print product? It had, after all, been a solid 10 years since I’d been on a first date, and if my memory served me correctly, I wasn’t all that good at them. And that this wasn’t so much a date as it was a recruitment session.
A tale of iguanas, E-A-G-L-E-S chants, and one really big glass of panic pinot grigio. But I relaxed a little when he finally walked through the door of Johnny Brenda’s. Um, okay, sure.” Even I knew this wasn’t the way first dates were supposed to progress. I excused myself for a minute, ordered a very large glass of wine from the back bar, and headed to the bathroom.
Tall, well-dressed, seriously great smile — this was going to be just fine. I’ve never been one to make plans, so I didn’t really know what Friday night was going to look like in my 30s.
We had met a few days before while waiting for our tables at brunch, and he was so charming that I agreed to follow-up drinks before remembering that I wasn’t ready to date. I was waiting on a friend,” he explained as he pulled out a chair and put his book on the table. If I’m being honest, I guess I didn’t expect to be sitting down to dinner in Ardmore with my adoring husband and 2.5 children.
The last time I was single, I think Facebook was a print product, and my Nokia flip phone was top-of-the-line.
I had reasonable AOL Instant Messenger game back in college, but nothing could have prepared me for the way people who want to undress each other communicate in 2015 — which is to say constantly, indiscriminately and, from what I can tell, in code.
While “sure” felt like an unsatisfying answer to a question in 2004, at least it was a correctly spelled word in the English language and not, say, a thumbs-up emoji.
Maybe it’s a journey of self-discovery and enlightenment when you have a sweet book deal, a massive expense account, and reservations at a luxury ashram in India.
But when you’re working with a freelance magazine contract, a Target gift card and a one-bedroom in South Philly, divorce simply sucks. Not that there’s ever a good time to drop the D-bomb on your life.
I imagine it’s difficult at any age, and I don’t envy people who have to navigate the process with children.
It was painful enough giving up custody of my cats, and those little bastards spent their few waking hours plotting to kill me. For one, a lot had changed about dating in the decade I spent on the sidelines.