Dating in your late 30s and 40s is… confusing.

And exhausting.

And honestly, just a little offensive at times.

Because can someone please explain when exactly we all decided that getting to know someone means also keeping six backup options on standby?

Is that dating now?

Is “micro-cheating” just socially accepted now?

Because call me old-fashioned, but if we’re intentionally getting to know each other, talking every day, flirting, making plans, sharing pieces of our lives… why are you also messaging Ashley, Brittany, Jessica, and probably a woman named Crystal who “is just a friend”?

I genuinely want to know.

And before anyone says, “Well you haven’t had the exclusivity talk…”

Sir.

If your emotional availability requires a rotating waitlist, I am already tired.

The reality is, dating looks very different when you’re not 22, carefree, and meeting people out every weekend.

I’m not at bars.

I’m not out partying.

I’m not casually wandering around hoping to lock eyes with my soulmate while living some rom-com life.

I’m home.

With kids.

Cleaning up snack crumbs.

Breaking up sibling WWE matches.

Trying to remember if everyone brushed their teeth.

So how exactly are single parents supposed to organically meet people?

Because if the answer is dating apps… respectfully, I have concerns.

And then there’s the standards conversation.

Apparently having standards in 2026 is controversial.

Because let me be clear—I am not asking for a unicorn that hand-delivers coffee while quoting scripture and repairing my appliances.

I’m just looking for a good man, not auditioning contestants for The Bachelor: Single Dad Edition.

I’m asking for someone with fewer red flags than my sewing kit has straight pins:

• a genuinely kind man
• emotionally available
• honest
• faithful
• doesn’t drink
• doesn’t do drugs
• has a career
• loves God
• goes to church
• actually wants a relationship
• likes kids
• communicates like an adult

That’s it.

That’s the list.

And somehow that feels like I’ve requested a billionaire astronaut cowboy with perfect credit and a jawline carved by Michelangelo.

Meanwhile half the dating pool says:
“not looking for anything serious”
“seeing where it goes”
“no drama”
“casual only”

SIR YOU ARE 42.

WHERE ARE WE GOING CASUALLY?

Home Depot?

I’m not saying everyone needs to be ready for marriage tomorrow.

But if you are still emotionally operating like a college sophomore with commitment allergies and a “wyd” texting schedule, please release the grown women back into the wild.

And let’s talk about loneliness.

Because that’s the sneaky part no one talks about.

It’s not that I need someone.

I have a full life.

Beautiful kids.

Responsibilities.

Joy.

Chaos.

But there’s still a quiet loneliness in wanting partnership.

Wanting someone to laugh with at the end of the day.

Wanting someone to help carry the mental load.

Wanting someone to genuinely choose you.

Not because they’re bored.

Not because it’s convenient.

Not because you’re “good enough for now.”

But because they actually see your worth.

Maybe the right people are out there.

Maybe they’re just all at home too… avoiding dating apps and wondering where the normal people went.

Honestly, if that’s you, forget romantic meet-cutes.

Just park next to me at Walmart pickup while we both single-parent our hungry, overstimulated children after daycare.

I’ll be the one mentally preparing for the Olympic event that is the evening routine: dinner negotiations, baths, locating the missing pajama pants, cutting fingernails like I’m diffusing a bomb, and eventually tiptoeing around the house later like I’m in a hostage negotiation so I don’t wake the tiny beasts.

If you can survive that level of chaos, communicate in full sentences, love Jesus, and not secretly be texting “hey beautiful” to six other women…

Honestly, introduce yourself.

And if you happen to know a genuinely good single man, please remember this post like it’s your civic duty and send him my way.

At this point, I’ve basically submitted my application to the Universe, Walmart, and possibly Home Depot.

I’ll be the tired woman in the pickup lane with pretzels being thrown around the car and suspiciously high standards.

So until God, Walmart pickup, or divine Home Depot intervention introduces me to a genuinely good man, I’ll keep stitching this life together with coffee, chaos, suspiciously high standards, and the brightest little threads I already have—my boys.