Novel idea about being single in your thirties and going to therapy.  I spent a lot of time in coffee houses.  Anthea used to insist I watch every penny and write it down.  She said part of my character was I wasn't admitting the corners and details.  I always wanted to skim the truth somehow.  Living by yourself is great for a little while but for anyone who has to do it more than a couple of years you get a bit itchy.  It's hard to face some of those hours.  I have met some people who never spent one night alone.  Also have been shamed several time for my lonliness. 

So at 33 divorced after ten years of marriage I started dating for the first time.  Having lost weight, corrected an underbite and just had my braces removed and nice teeth.  It was like waking up discarding that strange fat girl with the underbit and buying a new wardrobe.   Yet, I picked self absorbed people eager to please them and exasperated that they stayed crystalized seashell impressions encased in smooth stones.  Anthea would gently remind me that it would end in divorce and I would silently disagree while knowing she was right.