Coy Dancing Lessons

I've been on a few more outings since "Asian Persuasian" boy.

Let's face it, it's been only two years since I stopped nursing my youngest child. I don't feel particularly sexy when I look in the mirror. Hell, this divorce process has pretty much killed my libido. I've got bags under my eyes, and the gray roots are sprouting faster than a speeding bullet.

A friend suggested Match.com. I don't have the energy to even formulate a profile. The website itself gives you a tutorial on what to say and how to say it. You've got to be kidding me. Too involved and too time consuming. And what is up with those guys that post 75 photos where they are pursing their lips and offering come-hither eyes? Ugh.

And so I've let a few people set me up on dates. Hasn't been too bad testing the waters this way. And atleast I can be somewhat confident that I'm not going out with a serial killer.

Sometimes though, while sipping a cosmopolitan at the bar with my gentleman friend of the evening, I just want to say, "Look, I don't have the time for the coy dance bullshit. I really just need a good lay. And can you promise not to call afterwards? I don't have the energy to get to know you." Then throw back that first cocktail and bark, "Make yourself useful and order me another damn drink!"

My girlfriend handed me the book, "Why Men Marry Bitches" last month to provide me with some counsel as I enter the singles scene again. I laughed. I could have written that book myself today.

The last two dates have been really nice. On face value, great guys. Both were very attractive, very attentive. So instead of scary man-eater, I find that my feet start coy dancing.

I portray myself as the woman who has got it together (Xanax), exuding powerful strength (10 cups of coffee a day to combat sleep deprivation) and sexual mystery (forgot how to do it). I breezily jump from my children, to my work, to my current break-up (without giving too many details) in conversation as if I can juggle whatever life has to throw at me. I flip my hair (roots touched up the day before), laugh at their jokes, I am engaging, and offer the invite of only a quick "good night" peck on the lips (freshly glossed with lip plumper in the ladies room) before I say thank you for a lovely time and hop into my car to drive home.

If only they knew. I'm dealing with more baggage than a Louis Vuitton store.

According to the book, being slightly unavailable means the guys come back for more. This divorce has made me very unavailable. Certainly didn't have to try too hard here.

I've already gotten calls for second dates.

So, as a result of coy dancing, for the first time in years, I may have to schedule that long overdue Brazilian. Let the games begin!