Dating at forty.
Dating at forty with three kids.
Five years since my somewhat painful (brutally traumatic) divorce, the only relationship I’ve been in is with Ben and Jerry. But that relationship was very toxic as my weight gain could attest.
I was finally able to break off the dysfunctional relationship (goodbye sweet chocolate therapy!) and lost forty pounds in the process. Though I still have sixty to go, shedding the pounds has stirred a longing I haven’t felt in a while.
It’s a hesitant curiosity, something like a tentative sense of possibility. But dating at forty is not the same as dating at nineteen. Throw in three kids and it is challenging to say the least.
Suffering from an extreme bout of loneliness and boredom a couple of months ago, I decided to join Match. I exchanged numbers with a man and decided to call him one night. I thought to go into the bathroom for a quick call and as I was shutting the door, and just as he answered hello, my twelve-year-old son shouted out behind me, “Mom! I have to poop!”
Somewhere tires were screeching and glass was shattering.
Needless to say, the call ended abruptly and nothing ever transpired. I ended up hiding my profile due to the overwhelming guilt of having even considered the possibility of taking my attention away from my children and putting it somewhere else (like the tall, handsome man with extremely nice biceps).
This past weekend, however, suffering from the same loneliness and boredom, I decided to reveal my profile and take a peek. Online dating is a lot like fishing at the camp I work at. Most of the time the only thing that gets hooked is slimy pond plants. But every so often one of my campers will pull out a nice sized catch.
It’s only been a day but I think I’ll keep my line in for a while, and maybe just maybe, I’ll hook something nice.