It only would've been better if it played out in the lunch room. Of course, we would've had to toss notes across a long folding table or whisper behind smelly bathroom stalls. But the message would've been the same: he's cheating on you.

Gasp!

How sad to discover the midlife dating pool of broken marriages is just like high school. Instead of folded notes tucked in my locker I got text messages on my phone. Of course I already knew I was being played; I had already checked his phone! What a high school thing to do!

But that's what it's like to be middle aged and dating, with a wall of kids and responsibilities between you and all the fun you want to have. It's not just the men: we're all a bunch of desperadoes. Just like teenagers, we're in a new stage of life that we're woefully unprepared for. And just like teenagers, we're terrified! For different reasons, but fear is fear.

And it's not global warming and economic collapse that's got us down; it's the personal absolutes we're sliding toward everyday. Wrinkles. Hair loss. Test results. More wrinkles. Gravity. Specialists. It's just a matter of time before we're old as the lunch ladies!

And that's why I totally understand why my boyfriend was cheating on me with not one, but two women. I feel his terror! How much time do we really have before we can't see at night anymore to even go on dates? How much time before they announce Viagra causes your hair to fall out (or something equally as devastating)? If only he had just told me he wanted to cheat, I would've too and the whole messy affair could've been avoided.

But I'm so glad it played out; I wouldn't have wanted to miss it! I mean, I admit, I did act like Crazy Girl and threw things at the radio because every song was about me. But really, it was so freakishly fun, way better than food shopping or paying bills, which is what I was doing when I got the mysterious text message from the unknown number: "He's a liar, a cheater and a pig. Run as fast as you can." It was the Other Woman – damn! Just like on TV!

How quickly women of any age, income or educational backgrounds can bond over pecked out text messages of hurt, betrayal and anger. How quickly revenge schemes can be concocted and discarded. Discarded because we're old enough to know better, because deep down, we really do know we're not in high school. Concocted because we wish sometimes we were back in high school and could get away with a little criminal mischief.

The nice thing about being middle aged is that me and The Other Woman could probably be friends. We'd laugh over martinis and talk about the new men in our lives. Back in high school? I would've clawed her eyes out.