You want to know what happened? Well, like the dumb-ass, sex-starved, menopausal moron that I am, I slept with my ex-husband. Actually, I let him get his rocks off while I slithered on the stripper pole — yeah, I practice now and then — and then I fucked him.

You could say it was because I was horny, you could say it was for old time's sake, you could say it was revenge sex or anger sex or fuck you this is the best sex you're ever gonna have sex, but mostly, you could say it was one of the most stupid things I've ever done.

Or maybe it wasn't. Because when it was over he looked at me, with, dare I say it, a smidgen of regret? I honestly think I saw that in his eyes, regret for losing me — and all I felt was - well, to be brutally honest — I felt nothing. In a moment of clarity I realized, this excuse of a man wanted me on a pole if he wanted me at all. He wanted a lollipop girl.

So he's looking at me with those goo-goo eyes men get right after they climax. And I'm thinking, how do I get him out of here before the kids come home? And then I suddenly realize — shit — the kids! And I jump out of bed and start throwing my clothes on. And Jeffrey's all, "Where are you going? Shouldn't we discuss this?" and I'm like half laughing, half crying and say, "Fuck no, that was your one free pass, Man Child," and I'm out the door.

And it's already fucking RUSH HOUR (which might as well be the title of my entire life), so I call Annabelle and ask her to pick up Roo at pre-school while I make the futile attempt to drive up the 405 to Mulholland to get Mr. Handsome who had to stay late for his "Cooking Around the World" class after school. But there's traffic. Lots of it, because this is L.A. and we're talking miles and miles of freeway, millions of cars full of people whose lives couldn't possibly be as fucking weird as mine and I'm INCHING along, getting nowhere (another life metaphor, I suppose) and my heart's starting to pound (which can also be a menopausal symptom, by the way) but is most likely in this case, because I'm NOT MOVING AT ALL.

So I call the school, but of course no one answers. And by the time I finally get up there, the security gate (L.A., need I remind you) is good and locked. I stand there, seriously, for ten or fifteen minutes just buzzing the office (again, no answer and I'm starting to panic, like, isn't my kid in there and if so who is with him and if not so, did some serial killer hike out of the mountains and pull a Charles Manson which is one of my many secret fears and if no serial killer, is he sitting all alone in the school kitchen cooking foods from around the world?) and I buzz in every code I can think of, none of which work and then finally, thank God, someone comes out and I dash in and the place looks — DESERTED.

So I'm running around — I go to his cubby — empty, his classroom the same and now I'm sure I'm being punished for having sex with my ex, for keeping that pole up, I should have torched it along with the rest of Jeffrey's stuff and then I see — is it a mirage? — a group of teachers in the library and I burst in — shit, it's obviously an important meeting about something important — and they all turn, simultaneously, their big, teacherly eyes on me and I yelp, "Uh, has anybody seen Mr. Handsome?" and no one says anything (is this the Twilight Zone?) NOT A WORD, until finally, some young chick I don't even know (big surprise there) an office aide I surmise, she's new or at least, I don't recognize her because I'm a crappy mom CLEARLY and I'm never around pitching in like the rest of the perfect parents, she takes pity on me, gets up and leads me to a room off the courtyard.

And there he is, the only kid left in school. And he looks up at me with those big, trusting eyes and he says, "There you are. I knew you'd come. I told them you would." And the teacher in the room, another one I don't recognize, she looks at me, smiles indulgently and says, with great patience and understanding, "Oh, are you the new Nanny?"

Now I can't tell you how much I wanted to dissolve. On so many levels. Because this is so indicative of my life right now. But I pulled myself together, gathered Mr. Handsome's things and started to head out to the car. And then I hear someone calling me — "Hey, there - Hey!" and I'm like, "Crap, what did I do now? Isn't it enough that I had sex in the afternoon with my drunk ex and then almost forgot my kids at school? Isn't it enough that my kid's teacher thinks I'm his fucking nanny?!" And I turn around - all grumbly and defensive and looking about as glamorous as I feel, I might add and — it's HIM. It's Hot Birthday Party Dad. And he's grinning at me. And I seriously want to die.

And he's like, "Esme, right?" I nod. "Uh-huh." He's got a kid in his hand. A different kid than the one at the birthday party, the one where Roo went ballistic, and lost his pull-up on the trampoline. "This is Zach," he says. "Uh-huh." (I can't seem to speak. I'm dumbstruck by the absurdity of the whole thing, sex with my ex followed by this.) "I guess our kids go to school together." And when I fail to answer even that one, "Well, see you around, I guess. ESME." (When he says my name, it's like suddenly, pornographic, in the nicest way.) And he smiles at me, then turns to leave and I finally manage to blurt out, "How come I've never seen you up here?" and he laughs, "My custody arrangement's a little complicated. Usually Fiona picks him up." (Fiona, I'm thinking, Fiona his EX-WIFE.) And he crinkles his eyes at me, "But things are changing now."

And I'm thinking to myself, oh, yes, things they are a-changing. My body is changing and my finances are changing and my mind is changing every other minute which may or may not be hormonal as has been made abundantly clear by this particular day but all I manage to say is, "Oh." "Oh," I manage to squack. "Well, maybe I'll see you again, then." "Yes," he laughs back. "Maybe you will." And then, as he's disappearing, over his shoulder, "Don't you even want to know my name?"

And before I can even muster a half-assed groan of a response like, "Yes, yes, PLEASE" he's in his car, Zach in his booster and I whisper to Mr. Handsome, "Is Zach one of your friends, sweetie?" and he shrugs and says, "Sure, I guess," and I'm like, "Well, we'll have to have a play date, won't we? Like, maybe tomorrow," and I go to my car, gripping Mr. Handsome like my hand is a vice and I know it seems like really, I'm a big, fat slut of a divorced mom but all I can think at this moment is 1) Time to get rid of that skanky stripper pole and 2) There is a God and she is a woman having hot flashes just like me.