At this age, as a woman, you have the highest chance of cheating.

God, that infatuation phase. I still remember how I was once so nervous for a date with my now husband that I had to get off my bike half vomiting ten meters from his house to collapse in the grass.

Otherwise, I would faint.

I didn't dare to go inside. Didn't dare to ring the bell. He still lived at home then and his mother is the sweetest. It wasn't that. No. I was too in love. More than in love. And okay, I was also a little bit of a teenager. Who knows, maybe it was because of that feeling for some extra drama, to voluntarily cry in your prettiest dress pale from nerves in the grass about how miserable it is. Complaining that love is stupid and that men are terrible. And that after this time you really will never, ever, but then also never go on a date again.

But infatuation phases inevitably come to an end. For everyone. Then a lot of love takes its place. Different from the excitement of then, that's for sure, but not necessarily more negative. It brings peace. You are no longer nauseous when you hear the key in the lock and he comes home after a day of work. You no longer lie awake all night on purpose because you are afraid that otherwise you will snore next to him and still want to come across as charming. Luckily. Yet not every woman can handle that phase of love. Because no matter how long people have been together and how happy they are with each other, cheating happens. Often. It has now been shown from research that women at the age of 37 are most likely to cheat and peek outside the door. Just before your fortieth birthday. Call it a midlife thing, but apparently there is a great need for some extra attention then. According to experts, the average age at which women cheat the most is 36.6 years, about 7 years after their wedding day.

God, great then. I haven't reached that age yet, so I'm a bit worried. Luckily, I have it in my own hands, that much is true. And just a little more about that infatuated teenage behavior, suddenly I remember: back then I could never eat a bite near him. Literally not. I'm not joking. So head-over-heels in love that I couldn't get a bite down when he sat next to me. When I stayed over, his mother always asked if I wanted breakfast in the morning. After lying awake all night out of fear of snoring, yes. I always said, light-heartedly: ’Oh no, thank you, I'm not hungry.‘ I was starving.

When I finally got home, I ate half the fridge. I needed that for when I had to sit in that field again the next day, vomiting.