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“Oh my God!” Grace shrieked into the phone. “You’re a fag hag.”

“I am not!” I said. “He is bisexual—not gay.”

Ignoring me, as usual, Grace continued her rant: “You go from being practically a virgin to getting nasty with a gay guy.”

“I’m hardly a virgin,” I laughed. “I had a husband—I have three kids. And there was nothing nasty about it. It was nice.”

“Baby, you are almost as innocent as they come,” she said.

“Not anymore,” I retorted. And we cracked up.

But after I hung up, I realized I do feel a little more worldly. Or at least more confident. Maybe even confident enough to finally respond back to JelloSalad.

I sat down and popped out a quick e-mail to my Match.com mystery man. Then, before I could change my mind, I hit send.

Just then, the phone rang. It was Jerry. He wasted no time. “I enjoyed last night. I’d like to see you again.”

“I’d like that too,” I said.

We planned another date and said a quick goodbye. Jerry had to run to a meeting.

I sank down into my couch. He likes me. He really likes me. Maybe this will actually go somewhere. And maybe I can do the single woman thing. Maybe my divorce from Billy was the best thing that ever happened to me.

One thing I knew for sure: Just thinking about the possibilities made me want a date with steady old “Rod.” My Excellerator Thrusting Vibe is one partner who has never let me down.

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