Going on a dating site actually improved my failing marriage. I didn’t tell him I was on it. But I figured I had a right, since he was the cheater. But when I went on Match, I stopped nagging my husband. My mind was more occupied with who “winked” at me and less occupied with, “What an asshole. How can he not know, after all these years, how to contact the kids’ school.”
“Just go online. look at the staff directory.”
“You don’t have to say it like that.”
I was sick of the excuse that he was a foreigner from France and didn’t know the system. Now that we were finally going to separate, I wanted to be done doing everything for everyone. To be fair, Maxime would disagree with that assessment. If you were our therapist, he would tell you, “I do a lot. All the lunches and grocery shopping.” And then I would complain, “Yeah, but I do everything that requires planning and thought.” And he would get pissed and just stare into space because he can’t ever do anything good enough for me.
I came to accept the burning, angry stares mostly because it was better than shouting. We didn’t want the kids to hear. So we just fought silently, mostly with eye-rolling. My older daughter especially was sensitive to any tension.
“Guys! Stop fighting.”
“We’re not fighting. We’re just disagreeing. Adults disagree. Then we work it out.”
The little one simply went into her imaginary world telling stories about her stuffed toys. Making them go on trips to some happy vacation land.
Meanwhile I had my secret dating site. And I was feeling bold enough to send some guy a message. Even though he looked a little douche-y in his picture. A shaved head and a purposeful, smoldering look into the camera, his screen name was OneInAMillion. Yeah, I know. But his face was good-looking, so I wrote:
“So I see you’re in Brooklyn too. Want to get a drink some time?”
He responded right away! Yay! I knew I was still cute. So there!
“Sure. Sounds great. Thanks for checking out my profile.”
Jeeze would I actually meet up with someone? Would I actually kiss someone? I hadn’t kissed anyone in ages, including my husband. And not including my husband it had been 15 freaking years. What if I didn’t know how to do it anymore? Should I practice with a pillow? It just wouldn’t be the same thing. Maybe me and OneInAMillion would just talk, and I could slip on home without him ever getting a chance to lean in. Or maybe I wanted the lean in to see what it was like. I wrote him back, “So what is your weekend looking like?” I felt like I just asked someone to prom.