Okay, this isn't going to apply to those of you whose husbands were caught waltzing off to Fiji with their secretaries. But the rest of you might get it.

You know that time around the end of your marriage, the time when you realize that if you have to share one more conversation with him you'll actually vomit into your Cobb salad? Have you noticed that's always the time when he wants to "spice things up"?

What is it about a failing marriage and the desire for ever-more kinky sex? What is that? He doesn't want to talk to you, he doesn't want to help raise the kidlets, he seems to have forgotten how to fill the gas tank, but now he wants you to dress up like a cheerleader, with the pompoms but without the panties?

Part of me thinks that this is because the men in question aren't attracted to us anymore. The other part of me — usually the bigger and louder part — still has faith in men and thinks they're doing it because they want the relationship to be better. They just don't have a damn clue how.

Can somebody please write a book? Like, How To Get Your Wife To Love You Again... (Hint: It has nothing to do with sex).

Wouldn't that be a good book? It could talk about going on dates that do not involve sporting events and give tips on how to sort your own laundry and how to find the vacuum cleaner in your own home. That would be a good book.

I have a theory. I've heard many times that the divorce rate for second marriages is higher than the divorce rates for first marriages. The idea here is that once you've been divorced, you are statistically more and more likely to get divorced from subsequent spouses.

The numbers don't lie, but I don't think they say what the pundits think they say. The increased likelihood of divorce in a second marriage has more to do with knowing when to call it quits than lack of ability to commit.

Think about it — with the exception of parenthood, there's nothing in the world that we commit to for our entire lives but marriage. We split up with our jobs, our homes, even our parents. If we had a job that sucked as much as a lot of marriages, we'd be out in a flash and everyone we knew would be commending us for doing it.

So why not with marriage? Why not laud the ability to realize that this person isn't for you? What about saying, "Right on! Way to be true to yourself!"?

My divorced sister-in-law is quasi-engaged to a man who is also divorced. They both married fairly young and for fairly stupid reasons. They're now in a position to know what they want and what they need in a partner far more than they could when they originally walked down the aisle. I'm happy for them, and I hope they're happy together. They certainly seem to be.

But if they were to split up or divorce, I wouldn't think it was because either of them wasn't able to be married. I would think that they weren't able to be married to each other. To me, divorcing under those circumstances seems like a pretty smart idea.

I spent Easter at my new in-laws' house. It's always a little awkward to be there for any length of time, but it seems to have reached fever pitch discomfort levels of late.

My partner's father has recently retired. He had a fairly demanding career and was out of the house a lot. My partner's mother had almost complete control of the house, and he generally stayed out of her way. I used to think that this was a fairly unevolved way to coexist. Now they're together all the time, and I've changed my perspective a bit.

I think they hate each other. They spent the entire long weekend in an upper-middle-class level domestic dispute. Everything was an argument. Should we feed the baby now, or should he eat while we're eating? Was it his idea to go on the Caribbean cruise, or hers? Was the photo taken in Bermuda or Barbados? Should we take the recycling down out now, or in half an hour?

By her account, he had numerous affairs over the years and they almost got divorced. By everyone else's account, this is bullshit. In households like this one, though, when someone says something that is not only bullshit but extremely offensive, you don't call them on it. You talk about how the stuffing tastes good with extra rosemary instead.

In writing for First Wives World, I've encountered many people who think that divorce is a tragedy. I'm starting to think that in some cases, it's a brilliant innovation. If they'd divorced 20 years ago, there's a slim chance they could be happy now. In their case, that slim chance of happiness seems a hell of a lot bigger than the chance they have at it now.

One of my favorite parts of being divorced is not having in-laws anymore. The freedom from all that extra censure and pressure cannot be overstated.

One of my least favorite parts of being part of a couple again is that you get yourself a brand spanking new set of in-laws, and they're often worse than the last.

The thing about in-laws is that they never like you. You're never good enough. You're never a good enough wife, you're never a good enough mother, you're never a good enough housekeeper. Nothing you do will ever meet the expectations placed upon you because they put those expectations in place years before either you or your partner were even born.

Some in-laws are obvious in their dislike of you. While this makes for some confrontational situations, nobody looks at you like you're crazy when you say your in-laws don't like you. Other in-laws — like, say, mine — are not obvious in their dislike. They are passive aggressive and make snarky comments with a big smile on their face, while asking you if you'd like more Merlot.

I wonder sometimes if it's possible to divorce the family without divorcing the man. And while wondering that, I wonder if divorcing the family could lower the divorce rate by an astronomical percent. Worth thinking about.

My ex doesn't really piss me off anymore. I read a lot of posts on First Wives World where newly divorced women wonder if they'll stay as angry or as bitter or as hurt as they are now, and in my experience, the answer is no.

Generally speaking, we don't fight, we don't spat, we barely talk, frankly. But right now, I'm ready to ring his redneck neck.

When I was recently pregnant, there were complications. Blood pressure, bleeding, fainting — it sucked, I was in and out of the hospital, and I wasn't particularly good at returning phone calls or emails. Not to mention I was experiencing a fairly crushing depression but couldn't take my meds because they kept me up at night.

My oldest son was calling a lot from his grandparents', and I either wasn't there to take the call or I wasn't up for calling him back. After a few instances, I called my ex and asked him to get in touch with our son and explain the situation to him so he wouldn't feel completely abandoned. He was incredibly sweet and agreed to handle the whole thing. This was several weeks ago.

Last night, I was talking to my son on the phone, and he asked why I hadn't returned his calls all those weeks ago. He has the memory of a goldfish, so I reminded him of what had happened.

"Oh," he says. "I didn't hear."

"You didn't?"

"Well, I spoke to Daddy a few days ago and I asked him why you weren't calling. He said he'd talked to you a few weeks before that but he didn't know what was going on."

I feel like dragging my ex into an alley and smacking him stupid.

When I was married, neither my husband nor I could make any real money at our jobs. We had to have a two-income household because our two crappy incomes were only really the equivalent of one real one.

Eventually, I got my skills to the point where I could run a fairly lucrative business from home. I now make more money from the comfort of my couch than my partner can make working outside the home.

We've decided to make him the stay-at-home parent and me the working one. It works for us — nobody has to leave the house, and somebody is always around for our toddler.

Good, right?

Apparently not. It seems like we are now finding ourselves the objects of reverse sexism. It seems like all of the feminists — the ones who talk about equality and women's rights and, uh, equality — are looking at me like I'm out of my mind.

"But if you both worked you could make more money!"

"But what does he do all day?"

"It must be so hard working from home and taking care of the house work and the baby all by yourself."

Did I get divorced again and not realize it? Am I single? Have become a martyred slave? Why is it that as I finally get empowered, people start thinking the opposite?

Maybe it's jealousy. Maybe so many of my friends have divorced total assholes and they don't realize that there are responsible and contributing men in the world. Maybe they just don't understand that other people aren't as upset all the time as they are.

Maybe I need to find some girlfriends who aren't so damn bitter.

Well, I was pregnant and now I'm not. It got me to thinking, as I've been known to do, about my ex.

When I was first married, I got a positive pregnancy test a few days after the wedding. I basically freaked out, but I did it privately. My ex was the type who would freak out enough for the both of us, so I figured it would be a good idea to at least get accustomed to the idea on my own before I dropped the highly unexpected bomb on him.

When I finally realized I couldn't wait any longer to tell him, I did. I took him out to a pub and ordered him a beer. I told him. He took a swig from his beer. He took another swig from his beer. He took a third swig from his beer.

"Can't you take a pill or something?"

"To do what?"

"To... you know."

Oh yes. I knew. But if he was going to be like this about it, I wasn't going to make it any easier for him. Keep in mind, we had a 15-month-old son already, so it wasn't a general fatherhood issue.

The thing is, I have nothing against abortion for those couples who think it's the right thing to do. I just don't think it's something you do before you've had a chance to, uh, think about it. Or discuss it. Or, in his case, even know the legalities and the procedures involved. No, sadly, I can't just take a pill or something.

I later found out that I wasn't really pregnant. It was something called a blighted ovum, which means your body thinks you're pregnant and acts like you're pregnant but you're not actually pregnant. I have to wonder what would have happened if it was the real deal.

I got a letter in the mail last Friday from an unknown sender. There was one of those official-looking stamps peeking through the window in the envelope, and those tend to strike fear into my heart. (I have been known to take my student loan payments a little less seriously than I should.)

Anyway, after looking around for the nearest stiff drink and realizing that since I'm pregnant I could be tripping over Maker's Mark and it wouldn't do me a damn bit of good, I opened the letter. It was from the city. About my divorce.

Did I not mention I'd filed for divorce? Well, apparently I did.

A long time ago — like, years ago — I went to see a paralegal and paid her half her fee. Then I, uh, forgot. Apparently she actually started proceedings. Unlike me, the city did not forget.

They were writing to tell me that if I didn't complete proceedings within 60 days, they would assume my husband and I had reconciled and would cancel the filing.

Many people have a divorce filed behind their back and are surprised when they receive papers in the mail. But what kind of person is surprised by their own papers? How disorganized do you have to be to forget you filed for divorce?

I will probably get off my ass and pay this woman her $400 and soon enough I will be divorced. Then maybe I'll actually marry my partner of four years, the father of most of my children. Maybe not. Tough to say.

In the meantime, I will sit back and rub the official stamp between my fingers, amazed at my own ineptitude.

I wonder how it would work, having separate homes. I mean, I can certainly think of the good things. I could shave my legs or bleach my mustache or awkwardly try to wax my bikini line without broadcasting it to my partner. I could buy the floral couch from Ikea. I could finally write that trashy romance novel without someone peering over my shoulder saying, “Whatcha doing?” But what about the practical aspects? Would we give the baby identical bedrooms, or would he sleep at my house all the time? We just bought a very large and expensive television. Who would get it? If I buy that floral couch and he buys the ridiculous black leather one, what do we do when this situation inevitably ends? I have a feeling they won’t work well in the same room. What about meals? Dates? Discipline? I know I happen to be insanely permissive with the baby which drives my partner batty. Would it be difficult for Jack to reconcile different rules in different households? Or would it be just the same as when Michael was little and my husband and I shared custody? My partner says he likes this idea, but he wonders if this is the first step people take when they’re ready to separate. I can understand his point, but I think it might really be the first step people take to avoid separating. Like a pre-emptive strike against divorce.

I visited with a couple of my single friends today, and it got me to thinking again about yesterday’s post. I’ve mentioned before that my son’s nanny is divorced. She’s the one with the husband who got their fertility specialist pregnant. She’s been single for years now, and I’ve rarely seen anyone so happy.

I go to her house and I see a home that’s perfect for its owner. She’s obviously so content and at peace with her life, I wonder if adding a husband would make things better or worse.

Later on I went to see a good friend of mine who’s a single mother of a 9-month old. She doesn’t get child support from her ex, and by her own definition, she’s dirt poor. She also seems to be incredibly happy — far happier now than she ever was before she split up from her ex, or even before she met him. Maybe it’s motherhood that suits her so well, but I see so much more joy in her life than I ever saw before.

There are times when I wonder what that kind of life would be like. I wonder what it would be like to have exclusive domain of a household, to be the one who makes all the decisions, the one who doesn’t have to ask anybody for their input. While I’m delighted with the life I have, I do wonder what the other side is like.