Nobody puts on a pouffy white dress with sleeves big enough to hold roast turkeys and thinks she will get divorced, but that's exactly what happens about half the time. The average cost of a wedding ceremony is $18,000 ‑- but you do get free toasters and cake out of it. Interestingly, the average divorce also costs about $18,000 (for each person!), but only one of you will get the toaster, and if you want cake, well, you'd better bring your own.

Odds are you'll also need pie, ice cream and brownies. When I went to my divorce court dates, I used to bring along a sports bottle filled with classic Hershey's syrup. Every time something didn't go my way ‑- which was pretty much every moment I was there ‑- I'd pound back a few gulps of that lifesaving elixir.

As a Grrl Genius relationship expert, I am here to tell you that life after divorce can be tolerable, or even wonderful. The statistics back me up: According to the U.S. Census Bureau, the rate of divorce for second marriages is lower than for firsts, with first marriages failing at a rate of 51 percent and second marriages calling it quits 43 percent of the time.

Here's what happened to me: I got divorced, thought I was going to die, didn't, and then met the love of my life. Divorce was painful, but now, a couple of years after the fact, I can honestly say my life is so much better. Getting out of my marriage was good for me the way that getting out of Austria was good for Maria von Trapp.

One of the (many) problems with divorce is that there is no standard ritual to commemorate the event, such as there are for other life-changing occurrences like births, graduations, weddings (of course) or the release of a new Denzel Washington movie. Most rituals include some kind of social gathering. You might be thinking, Hey, divorce is awful ‑- why would you have a get-together for that? The fact is, we have rituals and parties for bad things all the time. I mean, what is a funeral after all, except a party to make you feel better about something really, really bad.

If we had funerals for dead marriages, at least the guest of honor would be able to hear the condolences and drink the margaritas.

Other cultures have rituals for divorce. In the Ndebele tribe of South Africa, when a woman marries, the husband gives her a series of necklaces, which artificially lengthen her neck and cause her neck muscles to atrophy. When they divorce, they have a ceremony where he takes back the necklaces and her head flops to one side until her muscles retrain themselves.

In Morocco, where divorce is a new phenomenon, a divorced woman is given a party by her friends. There is music and dancing, and men who are interested in the divorced woman come to the party and bring her presents like camels (the animals, not the cigarettes) and jewelry. The party lasts for three days, or as long as it takes for the woman to accept another marriage offer.

Personally, I'm always happy to have jewelry (I figure I can always use it to hold up my neck), but I don't think I would have cared for a camel or a new husband that soon after my divorce. But maybe that's just me.

Still, I think the idea of a divorce party seems like a good one. According to Divorce Magazine (which sounds about as much fun to subscribe to as Bad Skin Monthly or Why Does Everything in My Life Go So Wrong? Digest), these parties are becoming more popular.

When I got divorced, my personal Grrl Genius club actually threw a surprise shower for me to replace what I had lost in the divorce. I was overwhelmed by their generosity, and it was great to once again have spatulas and a nice set of measuring cups. (Although I wouldn't have minded getting my 20s back, but that's not exactly something you can register for at Target.)

What I didn't know was that there had been a lot of controversy among my friends as to whether throwing a divorce party was a good idea, or whether it was the kind of thing that would make me feel like an even bigger loser.

My cousin Jen, who is a 28-year-old bride-to-be, decided to consult her Peggy Post etiquette bible. Peggy thinks that divorce parties should be private and discreet. In her opinion, it is bad taste to have a public ritual where you belittle the former spouse in a mean-spirited fashion. (This ran steadfastly against my married friend Kim's desire to burn my ex in effigy.)

Kim, who is a high-powered exec and sometimes takes her killer boardroom tactics into her nonwork life, felt that there definitely needed to be some kind of bloodlust element to the event. I was later told that her suggestion was "Let's have a really good chocolate cake made in the shape of a man, and in the center we'll have this huge pink frosting heart that Cathryn can cut out and eat!"

My girlfriends finally calmed Kim down by agreeing to make the party a barbecue, with a suckling pig on a spit. Kim insisted on referring to the pig by my ex's name, and that seemed to quench her thirst for revenge while still allowing my cousin to feel that we were being white-glove Peggy Post correct.

Jen did feel the party needed some kind of ceremony, and after much debating, my friends finally settled on a naming ceremony. During this ritual, I took back my maiden name and then my friends helped me fill out the many DMV, credit card and government forms that process entailed. At some point Jen started tentatively singing "Kumbaya," but we put a quick stop to it by refilling her piña colada.

The party didn't make me feel like a loser. I felt loved and supported. We didn't rip up my wedding album; we didn't burn my bridal gown and roast marshmallows over it (yet another of Kim's suggestions). The dress was expensive, so I donated it to Goodwill, figuring it would be worth a few dollars in sleeve de-poufing fees to remake it into a lovely dress for some other hopeful bride.

My divorce party had all the qualities of a good Irish wake. There was laughing and crying and eating and drinking. Predictably, the highlight of the party for me was the delicious chocolate cake from LedasBakeShop.com, which is my favorite. It wasn't shaped like a man, and I didn't ritualistically cut out any of his frosted organs. It was just an old-fashioned birthday cake with big pink flowers, a cake that says "Here's to you ‑- we know the world is a better place with you in it."

Because, really, all my friends were trying to tell me was that they were sorry for my loss and they loved me no matter what. If you've got a friend who's going through a divorce, trust me, she'll appreciate the thought, but even more than that, she'll appreciate the cake.

Missed a column? Find all articles by Cathryn Michon here.