After I lost my husband of 46 years, it took about a year for the first friend to ask, “Do you think you’ll ever date anyone again?” The answer is: Why would I want to do that? Don’t get me wrong; I liked being married and would have preferred to remain in that state. But now, I have become accustomed to living alone. These days, right out in the open, I can take yesterday’s socks out of the laundry basket when my feet get cold at night. I can alphabetize my spices and my analgesics. I don’t give myself a sad look when I start a Christmas list in August. Mostly, however, I’m not interested in a late-term relationship, because it turns out, all the men my age are old men.
There was this one day, however, after watching a friend recover from a few dates she met online, when my curiosity overcame me. I took a stroll through some of those dating sites for mature persons. You know the ones: Dating While Still Alive. Cruisin’ with my CPAP. Meet My Defibrillator, and the ever-popular Our Turn is Over. I read through the bios of men my age, and here’s what I learned.
The shelf-life of a woman is a man’s age minus fifteen years.
Those men who say they sport a few extra pounds and are just social smokers all want a woman who’s fit and firm.
Every one of them actually believes that he always arrives early and is very romantic.
Divorced men with six children, who make $30,000 a year and have only a few outstanding warrants, do not want a woman with baggage.
I did not discover any gems in these bios, just men looking for a nurse or housekeeper. Apparently, they noticed supper was no longer appearing on the table at 6-o’clock, and they can’t figure out that you have to remove the backing before applying a Band-Aid.
One cannot help but notice the photos attached to these bios. To be fair, when you’re 75, the only good lighting is a strobe light that allows just a quick peek or alternatively, a spotlight that blinds the person looking at you. So, I tried hard not to judge this crop of tottering, teetering men by their pictures. Still guys, if you’re putting yourself out there on the chopping block, let me give you a little advice. Shave both sides of your face. Your comb-over shouldn’t look like it originates on the cock-a-poo lying behind you on the back of the couch. You need to know that the smoldering look you practiced in the mirror resembles a serial-killer sizing up his next victim. You say you like fine wine and nouvelle cuisine, so before you take your next selfie, knock the bag of Double Stuf Oreos off the end table. And remember, only Paul Newman could rock a strappy undershirt, and I’m pretty sure even Paul shaved his shoulders before sitting for a portrait.
You may be surprised to learn that while exploring those online sites, I actually found a wonderful date. He’s a redhead, big green eyes, lets me pick all the movies, and loves to cuddle. And all he needs for dinner is half a can of Fancy Feast.