Hey, it's my birthday.

We thought midlife hadn't been hard enough up until now so we decide to date while we trudged through the Celibate Desert. We're so thirsty.

“I want you to ride bareback behind me on my horse to Sagebrush,” the handsome Scot said, brushing the hair away from my face... ​Bareback?

For a little while, your life looked like a Norman Rockwell painting. The table was set just right. But Norman painted that, you didn't.

"You don't have to feign interest in film for me," he said, letting me off the hook. "Oh, thank goodness," I groaned.

A slip of paper tried to escape, fluttered out but he caught it. He took the card out and it was a Father’s Day card with childish writing

I delight to sit in his shade, and his fruit is sweet to my taste.

I said sourly, “I used rubber bands to make my costume & you used Paramount Pictures." "You're still the fairest lass," my movie star said.

“So, you’re an ex-wife?” he asked. I was so shocked, but I laughed. “Isn’t every wife an ex-wife? I mean, eventually?” I replied.

He put his hands against the door on either side of my head and leaned in and kissed me roughly pushing me up against the door with his body

I wrote that divorce does something to our children that I am not smart enough to figure out. But Gerry figured out it teaches them to leave