Upon divorcing, I changed my entire approach to dating. I used to go for what I want fairly directly without many complaints. My opening of, “Hey, I want you,” generally followed with “Uhm, okay.” Hardly resounding enthusiasm but I didn’t really require that. Generally my hapless victim hung around until I wanted something different, usually 3 to 6 months later. Serial monogamy is what they call it. Sometimes, significant bonds formed and losses were painful. That never stopped me from moving on. I didn’t feel capricious because I thought that was dating. In hindsight, I call it coping.

I’m an odd people pleaser. It’s a strange mix of Southern heritage, customer service training and survival tactics. If people are happy then they won’t hurt me, or so the logic goes. As the television raised me, I believed a romantic relationship should be with one person at a time and involve ceremonial milestones of courtship. Reaching a certain point successfully is a good reason to move on to the next level of commitment. Try each other on as Partners and eventually find someone to have non-bastard children with. That’s what success looked like. It usually involved moving in together. Hence, Rule #2. The Rules are in place to avoid the pitfalls of my youth.

My recent dating method involves two significant changes from my past. No limits and at my own pace. I don’t limit who, when or where I can show interest. Relationships spring up like weeds when you are open to new people all the time. It’s not without collateral damage. I have been stood up, slobbered on and outright rejected more than a few times. I’m fairly certain some people would classify me as a slut or worse based on appearances. I’m free with my attraction and express it better every day. At my own pace is the part of my principles keeping me from overindulging.

I had a young man suddenly kiss me outside a Thai place last week. His lips were soft and his intentions direct. Usually my style. There was something a little off about the whole thing and then he utters those fateful words, “Wanna go back to my place?” Conflicted with my desire to get laid, my standards win out. “Sorry, no. I don’t go home with people I just met.” And it’s the truth. I know that eliminates endorphin rushing moments like one night stands and regrettable oral play but I’m happier for it. Nothing against the person that says yes. Go have a blast. I’m doing my best not to get hurt and my current criteria is working out. Mostly.