I knew from the get-go that Rebound Man was just that; not Mr. Right, but a perfect Mr. Right Now. A gentle reintroduction to the self I lost in marriage. You have to start somewhere.

The first kiss was just a gentle brushing of lips, the slightest embrace. But oh so nice.

“Could I have another one, please,” I asked.

A slow smile. The mutual acquiescence.

“If we keep this up, I won’t be able to walk out of here,” he said.

“What? It was just a kiss.”

“A kiss with intent to seduce. That constitutes sex in the first degree.”

Oh My Lord! Here I’d thought I’d lost my libido — turns out I was just looking for it in the wrong place!

In the beginning, being with Rebound Man was like opening a gift and finding exactly what I had hoped for. I loved regressing back to that state of inarticulate adolescence, nearly swooning from the sheer delight of fresh infatuation. Which is always my favorite part, before the hard work of a relationship.

But the rebound relationship is meant to be light, insubstantial, fun — like cotton candy. It has no nutritional value, and is fine in limited amounts, just enough to leave that sweet taste on your lips. It’s when you overindulge or try to take it seriously that you get into trouble: dip in, dip out, move on, be happy.

Not that I practice what I preach — even new habits can be hard to break. So I hung onto my rebound way past its expiration date, finally accepting that this relationship was just as lacking as my marriage had been. He too, could only offer just one piece of the puzzle, nothing more. Time to find a new game.

But it sure was fun while it lasted.

I took introduction to psychology in college so I have a general idea of what the term "passive aggressive" means. It wasn't until recently, however, that I really got to witness it in person.

Apparently my husband has decided that this is his newest way to complain about the things I do without actually complaining about them.

Here are a couple of examples, which could easily be compiled with a slew of others for a "passive-aggressive husband reference manual":

The other day my kids and I went out to lunch with a couple of other moms and their kids. I don't eat out for lunch all the time, and this was an impromptu get-together. I had packed my husband a lunch that morning for him to take to work so he had leftovers. When he gets home he tells me this: "The guys at work said, 'Let me get this straight...she gets to eat out for lunch and you have to eat leftovers? Man, that's messed up!' Ha-ha!"

Translation: He's ticked off that I got to eat out and he had to eat leftovers.

My husband recently did some volunteer work with the guys at church that involved a lot of physical labor and when he got home he said, "Bob told me he was so glad that his wife and daughter were out of town because after we finished up he was going to go home and take a long nap without interruption. Ha-ha!"

Translation: He wants to take a nap but knows that we already agreed that he would take the kids so I could get some work done. He's hoping I suggest he takes a long nap and I'll just stay up until two in the morning working.

How do I know it's all passive aggressive? These comments don't even go with the flow of conversation. They come out of nowhere, and he gives a long pause afterward as though he's waiting for me to fall to my knees and beg his forgiveness for going out to eat with my friends/not offering him a four hour nap/whatever else I do that ticks him off.

I'm walking through the store, barely noticing the music they're pumping into the sound system, when all of a sudden I realize that I'm singing along with the tune that's playing: "Going to the Chapel." I used to love that song. When I was about 10 or 11 years old my parents gave me a cassette of Motown classics and I used to play it over and over, singing along and making up dances.

Back then I thought that was just the way it worked. You meet a boy, you fall in love, and "we'll never be lonely anymore." I'll admit that when that particular lyric hit the sound system I actually snorted out loud.

When I was younger I really thought that would be true. I thought that marriage was a partnership and I would never feel lonely for companionship or for the romantic gazes from a man who loved and adored me.

It wasn't even that I thought I would find a man and have his undivided attention forever, but I never thought that I would wind up married and lonely. Bitterly lonely. The kind of lonely where you sit in your house and think to yourself, "Who the heck is this guy that I'm married to?"

Back in better times, I wasn't lonely at all. We had a good social group and my husband and I would spend hours talking to each other and laughing and generally having a great time.

Fast forward to now, and we don't really have that much to say to each other. He'll tell me about his day and then listen politely while I tell him about mine, then he switches on the television while I work. So instead of "we'll never be lonely anymore" my lyrics are more like "we'll never feel connected anymore."

That stinks.

A while back I traveled in Mexico and removed my wedding band for the duration. I was in search of experiences unfettered by others' assumptions about who I am, what sort of life I lead, and what I value.

I was not looking for any romantic interaction of any kind with anyone I met, but still I knew removing the ring was in some ways unsavory, as well as entirely unfair to Rob, and when I returned I explored the situation and my feelings in a post "Let Freedom Ring."

I had the chance to expound upon that post in an assignment for Tango, a relationship web site — and learned the hard way that not all audiences are alike. The readers, most of whom I assume have not struggled with separation or divorce, were pretty sure I was a vapid, selfish, and idiotic for doing and writing about such a thing.

It may be true. One thing they can't say is I haven't thought about it from every angle. I have. And I don't take any of it lightly.

My first reaction to the other audience's comments was that I had better keep my most embarrassing and damning thoughts to myself from now on. But no. I've got a safe place to explore them.

The community at First Wives World is diverse in thought and approach to life, for sure, but here differences are the seeds of provocative discussion, not vitriol and disrespect. In exposing our journeys, and lending to each other constructive criticism and advice we are suddenly in it together, and "it" becomes something larger than ourselves.

Certain men's colognes drive women wild. I remember the first one that intoxicated me — English Leather.

I used to put it on my pillowcase and dream about Tom, Dick Harry — whoever. They all wore it. That and Brut, and all the fathers in the world wore Old Spice.

Then as time went on I had longer term relationships and longer relationships with a specific cologne. In fact, cologne became a relationship in itself. Now every time I smell a brand that a certain man wore, it causes a rush of memories of HIM.

It's confusing for me when a new man wears an ex's smell.

Some familiar colognes make me want to slap a guy I don't even know.

Because of this I recently I had a terrible break up with Paco Rabanne.

So the question is... Can you date a guy who smells like your ex?

Fast forward a few months. Ex had found a lovely new substitute for me, a recent divorcee who graciously took on my former roles as hostess, gardener, and short order cook for the kids. Okay, I'm lying. There was nothing lovely about this woman.

She was a sociopath and gold digger and I hated every minute that my girls were exposed to her, but let's not quibble over semantics. With Ex occupied, I thought I might be free to try dating again without former spousal interference.

R was a natural choice. He was sexy, single, and we'd been friends for years. It seemed inevitable that we would eventually connect. And we were very discreet. Ex and I had vowed to keep our children out of our personal lives and I figured at least I should try to live up to my end of the bargain.

But it seems we weren't discreet enough. R called one morning to tell me he just received a disturbing phone call. "I've put two and two together," Ex had blustered. "You are dating my wife! Don't try and hide it — I've had my suspicions validated by someone close to the situation." (Yes, he really talks like that. Reason 895 why I had to leave him.)

R was understandably confused. He responded: "I asked you months ago if it would be okay for me to ask Nancy out and you said yes."

"Well, going out on a date and dating are two different things," Ex countered primly.

My wife? Asking permission? Didn't the separation agreement and subsequent divorce decree allow for eventual dating? Since when do exes morph into father substitutes? And did Ex really think that one date with me would be such a snore that a second was out of the question?

I don't think dating will ever be the same again. It seems impossible to not end up at least slightly jaded after going through the divorce "process." And it seems to me that that makes sense.

I loved Levi with all of my being. I was in such awe of him that it's astounding. I would have done anything and everything for him — and I did. We did everything together. We had big goals, dreams and ambitions; we worked together to achieve them.

So then, it is understandable that after watching those dreams all come crashing down, after understanding that your heart can literally feel broken, that after experiencing the most devastating feelings that one can possibly feel, that you wouldn't want to set yourself up for that again.

I feel sometimes that I am fast-forwarding my current relationship as it happens; like I am writing a book and in a sense, writing our ending. This helps me to feel in control. Being in control is my new comfort zone.

I really like this new guy a lot. I've dated him for three months, which, since Levi, is a new record for me.

Thing is, it doesn't feel like it did before. Only on a rare, fleeting occasion do I ever feel that giddy euphoria, "new love" feeling. Only on occasion do I feel like I'll even care if he leaves.

It's as if I suspect he will.

No matter how hard I try, I can not let my guard down. I'm not sure if I will ever be able to give someone the power to break my heart again. And maybe that's better. Maybe a heart can't be broken twice.

What would happen if I just made up my mind to leave? How would life change for me and for my family? Would I find the inner peace that I lack right now? Would everything magically get better?

I'm not delusional. I know that it would be ridiculously hard. Most of all, I know that it would be a really difficult transition for my kids. They're young and as far as they know, mommies and daddies stay together.

Did I say it would be "difficult?" Maybe I should change that to "horrible." "Tragic." "Life-altering."

"The end of a secure life."

Am I being dramatic? I just try to think of what it would be like if a life truth was suddenly changed for me. What if my house burned down? What if I lost my arm? I can only imagine what it's like to suddenly have everything change.

I know that I would recover just fine. I know the process would be painful, but in the long run I think that it would make me happier overall. Then again, how can I be happy when I cause so much pain to my kids?

What a tangled web.

If I one day suddenly blurted out, "I can't take this anymore. I need a divorce," then it would be a bizarre combination of a huge weight lifted off my shoulders while also opening the door to a bunch of new drama and turmoil. It’s like I know what I want the eventual outcome to be, but I don't want to deal with all the stuff in between.

So what happens if I just make up my mind to leave? The world will be turned upside down. My life will never be the same again. The question then becomes, will the new life be better, and worth the effort?

If there is one thing I have learned from this experience of divorce, it is how to disengage, or as I call it, 'The art of disengagement'.

More often than not separations and subsequent divorces are far less than civil and almost all of us have found ourselves totally losing it, at least once.

Personally, I've gone ballistic more times than I even care to admit. This experience is such an emotional roller coaster that the only thing I found comparable to it is pregnancy.

I mean really, one second I'd be all smiles; happy to be single, grateful to be starting over, etc. Then I'd be weepy; missing him and not knowing what I was going to do without him. Then I'd morph into uber bitch mode and scream, yell, and one time I even broke something.

It was an exhausting cycle: happy — sad — bitch.

I think they call that spinning in circles. I distinctively remember actually feeling dizzy; I remember consciously acknowledging this cycle as it was happening, but I couldn't figure out how to break it.

Then it hit me...about five minutes ago.

I'm not the only one going through this. HE's going through it too. Levi is engaged in his own vicious cycle, spinning his wheels, along with me.
I've realized that the longer I play along with him — and by play along I mean take his phone calls, deal with his family, read and / or respond to his e-mails — the longer he'll play along with me.

One of us has to end it and it looks like it's going to be me. As one of my dear friends just told me, "It's like playing a game of catch, if you put the ball down and stop playing, what's he going to do?"

Is the term "cougar" really that bad? As my FWW colleague Debbie Nigro points out, the term is used to “describe a woman who chooses to play/date/carouse/befriend a younger man.”

Debbie thinks the term is demeaning to women because it “makes it sound like older women are pouncing on innocent young men, when truthfully we are treating them” to our wisdom, experience, and an occasional expensive dinner.

“Neither side in this romantic pairing initially embarks innocently and without agenda,” Debbie wrote. “Both find it curious.”

Debbie, however, thinks there should be a new word and is offering radio stations, newspapers, and TV shows the opportunity to run a contest to find a better term. We’ll use their results and then take a national poll.

But here’s the thing: I like the term “cougar.”

First of all, at least men aren’t invoking another animal analogy, like “hog” or “rhinoceros.” A cougar is thin, feline, beautiful, and strong.

It’s also sleek, smart and pursues a wide variety of prey. Variety is always good especially when you’ve lived a life being loyal to one person who then either dumps you or disappoints you.

In fact, this cat has the greatest range of any wild, terrestrial mammal in the Western Hemisphere.

Note: Wider than the wolf.

It’s solitary and doesn’t need to stick around, like those herding animals. Nor does a cougar want to stick around, which, natch, makes them more appealing.