The Female Mid-Life Crisis
What happens when a suburban mom falls into a lusty affair
I wasn't lonely, but I'd lost any sense of romance. Love songs, poems, novels, the mysterious pursuits of the heart—it all annoyed me.
Marriages were collapsing. Every couple we knew was in therapy or breaking up. My best friend had destroyed her marriage for a worthless swain she'd initially described as her “soul mate,” with whom she'd had the “best sex of my life.” “I saw no reason to deprive myself,” she explained, just before her new lover moved on. She's a bitter, gray, fattening single mother of two now.
I thought her an utter fool. Until.
He found me, I'm embarrassed to say, dear reader, on the Internet—Facebook, to be precise. The initial approach was professional but flattering. He'd heard about my work and liked it, and invited me to a conference. His page was packed with pretty pictures of himself. Reader, yes, I went to the conference, not with a goal in mind, but with possibility flickering. In person, I found him staggeringly beautiful. I had to leave the room, to stand outside gulping air. He resembled the bad high-school boyfriend, the mature version. Witty, urbane, the same tall, dark, and handsome. George Clooney with a chaser of Philip Roth.
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