Dating is an entirely different ball game when you're a separated parent, writes Fiona Murdoch.
"You need to get yourself a boyfriend," my 10-year-old son informed me. I was taken aback by his announcement, although, to be fair, it hadn't come out of the blue. It followed my request for a hug. Kisses had already been forbidden for some time. Now, it seemed, hugs were also to be a thing of the past. I always knew the day would come when the young man of the house would want to keep me at arm's length. But so soon? I asked what he thought I should look for in any partner.
"He should be handsome," came the swift reply. Naturally. Anything else? We proceeded to discuss the importance of finding someone who is kind. And fun. And who likes doing the same kinds of things. He said I should start looking the next day while he was at school.
What himself did not realise was that only a few weeks earlier I had, in fact, met someone I really liked. And I had fallen in love. Hopelessly and utterly (which is the only way I ever do these things). Cupid doesn't strike that often, but when he does all caution goes out the window and I become quite unlike myself. For one thing, I quickly lose my appetite. Even for chocolate! And this time around I lost half a stone within a week (a record). The long-term results haven't been too impressive, however: the lost weight returned when it became obvious that the object of my affections was not as enamoured as I.
A friend was convinced that the one sure way to forget about Mr Perfect (Mr Potential?), was to get out and meet more men. She invited me to accompany her to a "mature singles" event. I was horrified. Me? A mature single? I'm only in my 30s - late 30s, admittedly - and surely a mature singles night is aimed at people in their 50s, 60s and beyond?
There's no desperate hurry, anyway. The last time this friend visited her 85-year-old great-aunt she found her madly in love and waxing lyrical about her new boyfriend.
It seems many people beyond their 20s these days meet their partners through dating websites, but the thought of endless blind dates leaves me feeling decidedly weary. I know because I've tried one or two. Even if someone appears "right" on paper - well, online - it doesn't mean there'll be any spark when you meet up. It would be perfectly possible for me to go on 20 blind dates and not meet anyone I really connect with. That's 20 precious child-free evenings when I could have been catching up with friends or pursuing one of my interests.
Surely I'm better off making the most of my free time so that one day, should a Mr P cross my path, I'll be a much more interesting and well-rounded person, and he'll be far more likely to fall for me.
The most recent Mr P reckoned I was fairly content with my life. I told him I was reasonably happy. After meeting up a couple of times - and when it seemed like the interest might have been mutual - my main emotion, strangely enough, was not excitement or delight, but fear. Sheer terror, in fact.
The older I get the scarier it becomes to take the plunge. Probably because I know from experience how messy relationships can become. Divorce is a long, slow, painful process that knocks your confidence and leaves you reeling. As John McGahern says in Memoir, it's "like a death, but instead of that inevitable end, the person we have loved stands there as a living reproach of deep failure".
Yes, I failed. And I'm left feeling like a beginner when it comes to relationships. They baffle me. I mean, how can you possibly know that love will not turn into contempt? Sometimes, for whatever reason, we're attracted to people who would make disastrous long-term partners. Some scientists say falling in love is simply a matter of pheromones, but I prefer to think of it as a subconscious recognition of a kindred spirit.
There's never any guarantee, of course, that the initial feelings of infatuation will develop into mature, healthy love - the stuff of stable, long-term relationships. And the truth is that, given a choice, I would choose reasonably happy singleness over miserable partnership any day. That won't stop me keeping my eyes open for the next Mr P, but it does mean I won't be desperately seeking him.
In the meantime I'm no longer starved of affection because, while we holidayed with friends this summer, my son discovered that it's okay for a mature 10-year-old boy to hug his Mum. I learned an important lesson too: to receive hugs gratefully when they're on offer. And not to request them when they're not.
Fiona Murdoch's third book, Everyday Heroes - A Celebration of Volunteering in Ireland, is published by Veritas, €11.95