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 - Or - Seven reasons why dating myself is a personal choice that I make as a pathway to enlightened self-love and not as a reaction to being single during a global pandemic or getting stood up by some jerk I didn’t even want to get to know or share intimacy with anyway, and certainly not because it’s the only option available or a sneaky way of semantically rebranding the truth which is that I am single during both menopause and a pandemic, which fact has to be dressed up a little to keep it from completely crushing what’s left of my soul and sanity right now. 1. I am fastidious. My apartment is squeaky clean because nothing activates my inner Donna Reed like the prospect of company. Plus, I am free to watch whatever program or movie I like, pause to go to the bathroom every 10 minutes and talk back to the onscreen characters without commentary from a guest. 2. I’m an epicurean. The high-end takeout food and ice cream that was intended for sharing is aaaaaalllllll mine. ...

 I wonder if I’ll smell like my mother when I get older. I’m cat-sitting for her while she’s at the beach with my brother and sister-in-law this week. One of the perks of taking on this responsibility is that I get to do my laundry in her nice machine instead of the aging and unreliable ones at my apartment building. Another perk is experiencing my mother’s personality through her belongings while she’s away. One can surmise a great deal about a person via their kitchen utensils, pantry contents and personal grooming implements. For example, my mom left out an old-fashioned rubber ice bag for me because she knew I was having some back pain before she left. Who uses anything other than frozen vegetable bags for icing sore joints these days? She also seems to be hoarding soap. There are stacks of wrapped bars on a shelf in the bathroom, still more in a closet. Old-fashioned brand names like Fels-Naptha are unfamiliar to me, but the aroma in my mother’s bathroom is as familiar a...

1. Try a few online dating sites. When you find one for people over 50, go ahead and subscribe, you know, just for fun. This is new for you because you were married when online dating first became popular. 2. Immediately get freaked out by the wretched weirdness of judging potential partners by three blurry photos and answers to stupid questions like “How patient do you consider yourself?” — realize they’re all judging you the same way and disable your profile. 3. Reach out to one of your exes because you figure he’s safe, living two states away, and you might enjoy a little socially distant sexting or Skype sex. 4. When Mr. Two States Away doesn’t respond, embrace the shame spiral of having ceded the upper hand you had at the breakup over a year ago and decide you’ll never date again. 5. Shake yourself out of that shame spiral by remembering what a jerk that guy was and how you were the one who ended things, so you certainly don’t want to go back down that road again...

I recently learned that someone hates me. I mean, this person told me, in no uncertain terms, to go to hell because they hate me. I’m fairly sure this isn’t the first person who’s ever hated me, but it’s the first time I know it without doubt. My initial reaction upon receiving this information was to think, “Uh-oh, I’ve got to fix this!” I thought I needed to disabuse this person of their erroneous opinion of me, outline to them my upright and admirable characteristics, set the record straight, as it were. Then a little voice reminded me of a quote from author and psychotherapist Judy Ford: “Your opinion of me is none of my business.” The message of hate played on a loop in my head for a day or two, interrupted now and then by Ford’s quote. I really had to chew on the two of them together for the idea to sink in and take hold. I’ve never been a firm believer in intention. I always prize action over intention because having a thought doesn’t necessarily do anythin...