After years of being unhappily married, I took the leap of faith that my life would be better after divorce. Granted, I had some experience with being on my own — my Ex was so AWOL in the last five years of our marriage that my friends joked that I already was a single mom, albeit one without money problems.

With the help of a bevy of best friends, I had made a lovely (though somewhat lonely) life for myself with my three daughters.

But now, with the separation agreement in hand and one half of my bed empty, came the big question: after 15 years of marriage, how does a middle-aged suburban mom start dating again?

After all, my last real “first date” was in 1984. 1984? The title of the Orwell book on how Big Brother was watching our every move? A coincidence or harbinger of things to come?

It wasn’t that I didn’t know lots of good-looking, kind-hearted single guys who were completely crazy about me. Yes, I swear it’s true, even as isolated as I am, way up in the northern reaches of New York. Of course, these are the guys I meet each morning at the elementary school bus stop, leaving me in a bit of a pickle.

“Promise me you’ll never go out with one of my teachers,” my teenage daughter implored, with just a hint of panic in her voice. No problem there, I assured her. (Truth be told, most of them seemed young enough to be my own kids had I started this baby-making business a decade earlier.)

Going out with platonic friends seemed to be the best place to start, at least to get me familiar with dating protocol in this century.

So, when a former neighbor was back in town for a visit, and emailed me, we agreed to meet for dinner. Ex had the kids that night, so that wasn’t a problem.

Or so I thought.

It was a gloomy Sunday evening in November. The restaurant wasn’t crowded and the waiters were surprisingly attentive. While they weren’t exactly eavesdropping, I really couldn’t blame them for their interest in the scene: two old friends comparing notes on their marital unhappiness — one newly separated, the other contemplating a similar action—when, without warning, three children burst upon the scene.

“Mommy! We decided to surprise you,” my 10-year-old announced proudly. “We drove to every restaurant in town until we found your car!” The others nodded happily, clearly loving this new variation on hide and seek.

“We don’t mean to barge in,” my Ex boomed as he pulled up a chair from a nearby table and joined us. “We just wanted to say hello.”

And after 10 minutes of pointedly polite patter, they were gone.

My friend and I looked at each other, stunned. “Do you think he thought I was hitting on you?” he asked anxiously, clearly desperate to escape.

Check please.

Suddenly, the staff was nowhere to be found.