….So I’ve been dating for awhile now. And you know what, Dear Readers? I have come to the conclusion that dating at my advanced age is…
Weird.
Make that weird and unnatural.
As I walk around my neighborhood, I constantly see happy couples strolling hand in hand. This looks so warm and nice and I want a piece of that action. Until I remind myself that these romantic pairs are always in their middle twenties to mid-thirties.
At that age, they’re supposed to be gaga about each other. How else would the human race replenish itself?
But without Dame Nature trying to hurry us into the reproductive trap, what’s the point of doubling up?
I know. I know. It sucks being alone. And a trouble halved is a trouble shared.
Even that awful loudmouth harridan, Joy Behar, didn’t want to die alone. After years of kvetching, she finally gave in and married her Steve.
But speaking as a veteran now of many nights at the opera and lunch dates in Lincoln Park and brunches at The Bagel and meetings at the movies, I’m starting to feel like I’m not ever meant to find my Significant Final Other.
Okay, maybe it’s just me. Maybe it is different for senior guys. Maybe I should learn something from this.
But it’s not like I haven’t given elder dating the old college try.
Here are just some of the pitfalls I have encountered upon my return to the Battle of the Sexes Cage Match that “gray” dating has become.
Fix ups? Big problem. If you hate them, the friends who fixed you up in the first place get mad at you. You not only have a lousy evening but you run the risk of severing a thirty year friendship.
Meetups just for drinks? I don’t drink but I kind of like a guy with a glass in his hand.
That being said, I recently went out for cocktails with an attractive new prospect.
You be the judge.
We rendezvoused at a snazzy Gold Coast bar. Two beers (for him) later, he told me our table was waiting at a nearby French bistro.
Très bien with me. I was starving.
We walked into the restaurant and I started to make my way to the table.
Silly me.
Romeo ushered me straight to the bar.
“Why rush?” he asked. “Let’s get to know each other a little better.”
One hour and three double martinis (for him) later and I was hallucinating with hunger. I caught the maitre d’s eye and he caught my drift.
Finally at the table, my hero proceeded to order two very large glasses of red wine.
At the end of the evening I poured him into a cab and took another one home.
Game over.
But even with non-lushes, there’s the task of making light conversation. I’m pretty good at it but I’ve come to loathe it. Somehow being sparkling, scintillating, witty and engaged feels like I’m auditioning for a role I am not even sure I want.
After the tortured small talk comes the bill.
That leads to the paying issue. I haven’t had to pony up yet but I always offer to pay my own way. The last thing I want to be is some expensive dinner ho.
And speaking of paying, did I tell you about the successful men who are worried that they might fall into the clutches of…
Gold diggers!
(Over the course of several dates, I had one prominent doctor mention to me that this was his biggest fear. The THIRD time he said it to me, I had to set the record straight.
“Look, pal. I am not interested in your dough. I’ve wasted more money than you have.”)
And then too, I am not exactly geographically set up for dating.
My building has no overnight guest parking and it’s tough to find parking anywhere on the street.
(There is overnight parking available at the building across the street from me but it’s pricey. And I don’t validate.)
There are other pitfalls.
Like the guys who want you to meet the (adult) kids.
Nope. Not me, brother. I was a stepmother to three nice girls for twenty years and I know all the tricks the kids can get up to when they want their dad to ditch the new woman in his life.
Or even worse, they don’t want you to meet the (adult) kids.
Uh oh.
And then there are the sexpectations.
You know, the moment of truth when two adults acknowledge that a goodnight peck on the cheek is no longer a satisfactory ending to a beautiful evening.
I have issues, man.
My housekeeper comes early in the morning. What would she think if she found a strange man in my house?
What would my doorman think if a guy in a suit walked out of the building on a Sunday morning?
As to the birds and bees stuff itself, is it like riding a bike? Would I remember where everything goes? Has something new been invented since my last marriage?
And then there is the whole new thorny issue of…Viagra.
Belated Author’s Note: This clip was supposed to be Robert Klein singing his hymn to Viagra. But I couldn’t find it and this is funnier, anyway.
Recently I had a gentleman ask me how exactly I had handled the issue in the past.
I winced and told him that it had never been an issue in my past. I had NO idea how I would handle it. (No pun intended.)
He looked crest-fallen.
I couldn’t help it. And honestly, I wasn’t too sorry to see him mentally pack up his ED pills and slink home.
I don’t want to sound heartless but this is a very intimate problem. Something best settled between long-time couples. Not a “getting to know you” problem, at all.
Nothing in my past life would have been of any use to him, I’m sure.
(On second thought, I could bring something to that party. I bet I could get him a VIP appointment at my ex’s sexual dysfunction clinic.)
Oh well. I’m resigned. As Cary Grant said in Operation Petticoat, “When a girl is under twenty-one, she is protected by law. When she’s over sixty-five, she’s protected by Nature.”
Guess I’m going to die an old maid.
Well, I guess it’s better than dying a “young maid”.
Seriously though, I wish I had a good comment to make, without resorting to trite advice like: “Don’t give up Ellen!”. But, don’t give up.
(BTW: I think you have a ways to go before reaching the “old maid” status)
Cheers,
-Martin
Thanks for the kind words of encouragement, MAS. But from now on, I think I’ll stick to crosswords. A much more stimulating and rewarding past time.
If I’m getting a penile injection it’s not going to be from that whack job. And as for the penial vacuum- Roomba for me please!!!
Very nice! Thanks for the first laugh of the day. 👍😄
Thanks Ellen for reminding me of the “Tootsie” scene — that was my first movie date with Barbara, in June of 1983. Also, a first: you bring up crosswords before I do. Trying to stay warm in Minneapolis.
You’re welcome,Doc. Glad you liked the clip. I loved “Tootsie” and I’m glad it brought back happy memories. As for crosswords, when I get a comment from a MASter of them, what else should I bring up? (No pun intended.)
Ellen, then surely you’ll enjoy Opera Boxes. If not the puzzle, then maybe the whole opera. It’s quite the love triangle — one leg of which is Queen Elizabeth I, herself.
George! You’re supposed to send me a fabulous guy. Not another :#^*++ing puzzle! Do you have to take me so literally? This post was a cry for help!
Ellen — This is a not-so-pretty story, since “On Golden Pond” is one of my favorite films.
Since you’re clearly not fond of Viagra or of “handling” that tricky (sorry, Richard Nixon) subject, you should probably avoid men who live in the Michigan Ave. and Chicago Ave. in Chicago since it’s known as the Viagra Triangle and there’s probably a reason for that.
I wish you good luck in your never-ending search and am pleased to have a chance to learn from you where the “bombs” are buried in this over 65 minefield. You’re on your own, dear friend.
Thanks, Jack. Yes, feel free to use this a survival guide. And I hope to God, I get through this. (Remember, there are no atheists in fox holes.)
Greetings from Cabo with one of those Lincoln Park guys. A and I enjoying the fruits of grey dating. Hope you get as lucky as I have. Call you when I get back. Hang in there baby. The next frog may be me. Luv ya
Muchas gracias, amigo. Hope you and A. are having a mucho good time. And thanks for the good vibes. Fingers crossed. (And you’re a prince. Not a 🐸)
Thanx for the notes/ memories. I have so many stories, similar to yours, that I’ve written a book on Internet dating; using a different name for the author, of course. But remember: it just takes one. I met a guy in an airport once and we then spent the next four years together. Keep your eyes open
Good advice, Susan. I’ll stay alert, awake and away from Viagra. Happy New Year to you and yours.
Ellen, you will get your guy – I’m sure of it. And, it will happen through serendipity I expect, not through mission. Even as a resident of the the Viagara triangle I have a question for you. Since I believe that I recently read or heard that both Viagara and one of the other ED drugs were in the Billion dollar plus category for 2015, I’d think this stuff had attained the status of something like Ambien… just another drug to make life easier…but not a (sic) non starter?
Thanks for the vote of confidence, Gary. I need it. As for the link between Ambien and Viagra, the only one I can see is that I’d like to slip the Ambien to the guy in place of his Viagra. Problem solved. Looks like you’re having fun on the links. Lucky lucky you. 🏌
You can’t give up Ellen, think of all the great writing experiences you will miss. Also keep in mind the next step in the “giving up” process is a closet full of sweat bottoms and hoodies. I just can’t see that with you. He is out there, only a matter of time until you bump into him.
Thanks, my friend. I’ll remember that scary image whenever I think about quitting the fight. Good safety tip. And here’s wishing you everything terrific in 2016.
Hi Ellen,
I have many ladies in my life you sing the same song. Men our age want younger women, that is the unfortunate truth. So you either need to “settle” for a much older gentleman or find that one in a gazillion decent men who don’t need eye candy or prove they still have it.
This turns to another subject, staying in a relationship where you know you aren’t happy because you don’t want to be alone or that you will end up having to live with one of your kids. Pick your poison.
I can’t complain, Kim. I’m one of those people looking for a younger man and/or eye candy. I’m ruthless and heartless. So I guess this is my just deserts.