It’s hard to admit at thirty I’m already divorced. Mostly I refer to my ex-husband as an ex, and sometimes even say ex-boyfriend. I married at twenty-one. Two years after we had met, on the anniversary of meeting.
We at a friend’s birthday party, spent the night talking. We didn’t even kiss. I fell in love with him that night. He was such a gentleman, so caring, so interesting and I could talk to him.
He later told me he was too nervous to kiss me that night. That he wasn’t sure if I liked him or not.
But he asked for my number, we exchanged details. Our first date was to the movies, and pie afterwards. And then outside my apartment, I received my first kiss. Brief, awkward, but enticing.
I went to bed and jostled between sighing ‘it was perfect’ and freaking out and wondering ‘what if I was a bad kisser?’
I didn’t sleep well. I checked my phone every few minutes the next day to see if he would text. If he text it meant he still liked me, despite my in-experience at kissing and dating. If he didn’t… it meant I kissed like a walrus and he wanted nothing to do with me.
But he text in his lunch. And soon we were going steady.
We married young because I believed in the sanctum of marriage, and that you didn’t have sex before marriage. My family was catholic, and I went to an all girl catholic school.
So now at 30, entering the single play-ground I’m woefully inexperienced, and rebellious. I want to do everything I should have been doing at 21. I want to have a one night stand. I want to seduce somebody I like. I want to have fun!
So hang on, the ride is about to start!