Guest Post- Esme

Morning Bad Girls- Today I have a special treat for you from Ms. Esme over at Love, Esme.

She wanted to give us a look into Dating After Divorce- so let's hear what she has to say...

If there is one, fucking huge, difference between my pre-divorce life and post-divorce life, it has to be the dating. The god-damned dating. Who knew one 6-letter word could send cold chills down my spine, make my heart seize, and my brain fart…all at the same time. I hated dating. With such a passion, that I married the first man who showed an interest. Not my best plan, I have to admit. No…I don’t recommend it…but I did learn. So much of dating, I think, has to with age, confidence, and all out bad-assery. Yes, it’s a word. I just invented it. Fucking deal.

When I dated in my late teens/early twenties (because I did not yet have the confidence in myself to date as a younger woman), I still cared WAY TOO MUCH what people thought about me. I didn’t order the expensive things on the menu, because I didn’t want to be that person. I didn’t argue or debate with my date because it was just impolite. And if it was a god-awful waste-of-time date, I gave him 3, 4, or 10 more dates because I felt horrible for turning him down. See the pattern that developed here? I let myself become a fucking doormat, allowing any ass-hat to come along to take advantage of my sweet nature. My parents raised me to be polite, and I took it WAY TOO FAR.

Fast forward ten years. Ten glorious, learning and growing years. Dating? I fucking love dating. I love no-holds-barred dating. I love the whirlwind first date, where I make that dude’s head spin so fast he has no idea what the hell just happened. I breeze the fuck in, see if it is someone I am even remotely interested in meeting a second time, and get the fuck out. Never more then an hour and a half. A bad girl always has an excuse handy. This works for me for two reasons. One: Douchebags ALWAYS reveal themselves within an hour. Two: It gives me an extremely quick out when things do not go according to the bad girl fairy godmother‘s plan-because in her world they would all be amazingly hot half-dressed men ready to go for some intense…wait…I digress…

Case in point-I met a guy at a bar one afternoon. Within 15 minutes, he revealed the following: he had 8 kids with 3 different women, he wanted me to cook breakfast for them in the morning before school, I was never under any circumstances allowed to look in his wallet or at his phone, he had done something worth an ex-wife stabbing him, and he is not a huge fan of sex-or tits-but will play with mine if my fucking heart desires. I smiled at this guy as I leaned in to him some. I slowly lowered my eyelashes and traced my fingertip around the rim of my beer glass. Normally, I said, I would get up, put money on the table to cover my drink, thank you for the date and walk away. I raised my eyes so they met his and continued, But I am not even going to pay you that small courtesy. I got up and gracefully threw my trench coat over my shoulders as I walked away. I never looked back at his fucking ass. And you know what? It felt PHENOMENAL. The only thing that would have felt better? My stiletto in his fucking eye socket.

But Esme, you ask, what happens when you actually meet someone you are interested in seeing again? How do your rules work then? My hour and a half rule still stands…it leaves him, and me, wanting more…which in turns sends those chills down my spine. Only this time they feel very much delicious. I am so glad I embraced the bad-assery…

Much Love, Esme