About 13 months ago…
When I went to see my counsellor to talk through all the bizarre sexual / commitment swirl going on around me (and ultimately to decide whether to stay at Max’s family’s home while on vacation), she told me something else:
“Even if your husband hasn’t moved out, I think you should go out and have sex. It will help make the separation more real for you and allow you to move forward in your life.”
If this wasn’t ground-breaking psychotherapy, I’m not sure what to call it! Throughout it all, I had tried my best to take the high road, to be respectful and behave honorably. Clearly my sexual needs were not being met, but I was hoping to change that once my ex moved out. And now I was being offered a hall pass to go out and “have sex like a man” for a few months, regardless of whether we were still living under the same roof.
To be honest, I’ve never been a pick-up artist. And if I didn’t know how to pick up men in my twenties, I certainly didn’t know how the hell to do it as a frumpy mother of two! Actually, I barely even dated around, except for a few months in college. I’ve spent most of my life, since my teenage years, as a serial monogamist. By this time, I may have had one or two encounters/partners in my entire life that I would consider casual. (This does not count all those relationships that, now, I can look back and simply classify as stupid.)
And now I had doctor’s orders to go out and find a casual partner and — perhaps most importantly — not allow myself to get attached.
I left the office considering the possibilities: I would be on the prowl. I could be a cougar. I would commit to getting myself laid, stat!
But first, I went out and bought a Bliss Bikini Perfect grooming kit.