OK, I admit it. I have been in the dating zoo for a while -- with a certain lack of enthusiasm and a fair share of ambivalence. You know how it is. I love being single, but wouldn't mind dating. And like many others I was too cheap to pay for some websites that promise that you will finally find the missing half of yourself (I personally haven't lost any piece of me).
I was with my late husband for 32 years. After he died, I planned to melt into my sofa in a haze of dark chocolate gelato and Nicholas Sparks movies. I'd be the woman in the bourbon-stained bathrobe buying the giant, economy Bombay Sapphire gin and twelve Butterfingers at Bevmo. But I "got out there." Too much.
I think I genuinely lasted an entire week without logging on to any of the sites. But one night, I'd had a crappy day at work and couldn't sleep. I lay in bed, thoughts racing through my head. Just a little Tinder wouldn't hurt. My phone beckoned -- no implored -- me to pick it up and swipe. So I did.