With baby in tow and gift card in hand, we strolled into the mall. My BFF was on a mission and was dragging her husband and I into Victoria’s Secret.

As someone who has always appreciated the appeal of adorable undergarments, I’m proud to say I’ve never owned a single pair of granny panties. I’m a Victoria’s Secret customer-for-life who prides herself on her commitment to matching her tops and bottoms.

Admittedly though, over the years the replenishing of my panty inventory had diminished as a priority. Regardless of what I wore, the man I recently left didn’t seem to notice and over time I had transitioned to buying out of necessity, instead of for nookie.

Staring at a thong-clad mannequin with legs up to my neck, I realized that if panties had best-if-used-by labels like canned foods, I would have thrown all of mine away.

I don’t have any panties that look like that.

An internal dialog ensued: I am going to be single. I am going to go on dates. Eventually I am going to make out with single people and I don’t own any of those kinds of panties.

In an attempt to calm my increasing heart rate I decided to conduct a mental inventory of each style currently on display. As my list grew, so did the lump in my throat. My plan wasn’t working. I was suffocating in a sea of panties.

I retreated to my friend and her husband and whispered, “I don’t know anything about this. I don’t know about panties. I don’t know how to be single. I don’t know how to date and I don’t know what single guys expect with girls or panties or when dating.”

Always observant, my BFF’s husband reminded me, “I am a guy. Ask me.”

I surveyed the room, pointed at a pair and asked, “Like those, do guys like that?”

He replied, laughing, “Uh, yea.”

I pointed at another, “And those? You like to look at a butt crack?”

“Uh, yea.” he repeated.

“And those? And those? And those?” I asked, pointing at others around the room gathering a sample size large enough to draw a sufficient conclusion from his male opinion.

“Yea, yea, and yea.”

Each “Yea” was like a tiny little dose of valium.

As it turns out, men like pretty panties.

Period.

Maybe being single isn’t going to be as terrifying as I thought.

I hit send.

In cyber seconds my email would populate the inboxes of friends and family members, officially notifying them of my decision to end my marriage. Since leaving my husband months before, I had already discussed my situation at length (read: ad nauseum) with those closest to me. But now I was ready to begin sharing with a second group of folks who were close enough to know the news, but would understand if such information didn’t come in the form of a phone call that starts out with an awkward, “I have something to tell you …”

As it turns out, one of the hardest parts of ending a relationship is the dissemination of information. Who do you tell? When? And how? Does Hallmark have an I-am-getting-unmarried announcement section? Is it appropriate to have my mother include it as a topic of this year’s Christmas letter?

Knowing the answer to both of these questions was “no,” I set out to share the news as best as I knew how, with a carefully crafted email explaining the ridiculousness of my soon-to-be ex husband’s behavior, the difficulty of the situation, and my decision to leave. Trying not to think about the reactions of those on the receiving end of an email with the simple subject line From Me, I turned back to my outlook calendar to assess my schedule and froze.

Of all of the 365 days in a year, I had chosen this day, today (repeat: of all days) to piece together my thoughts, pour out my heart and share my news. Really? Could I be so ridiculously moronic? Did Starbucks add a shot of stupid to my coffee?

Shaking my head, I sighed, accepting the fact that the day I decided to tell the world that I was taking on life as a single gal, was April Fools.