Aging: The Good, The Bad and Occasionally, The Ugly

I’m old enough to remember that oldie  staring  Clint Eastwood was in his prime. Young enough to  protest over the whole “aging” thing.

Here is a snippet of my old age digest:

• Got a invite this week to be the test guinea pig for a lingerie company that wants a  “midlifer” to try out one of their corsets. Of course I said yes and already have my target audience of one lined up. I don’t know exactly what they’re looking for? As in written vs. photographic review. Will be taking bids for additional viewings or play sessions. Contact me here, discreetly, with a bid!
• Recently added some exercise to my daily life…I’m swimming at my mother’s retirement condo complex. Good news is that I’m slipping in and swimming alone (rules state you must swim with resident). Bad news is: Do people think I live there? ‘Cause that would suck to know that people assume I’m over 65!  Double-edged sword here. Quasi-depressing thought. Though, maybe I’ll meet a rich old coot in the pool who will be impressed with my physical prowess and offer to pay me to be his escort!
• Sexting. It’s for seniors too. Had a rousing episode just last night. Memorable. Never assume that being over 55 signals the end of one’s sex drive! My partner? 63 years of age and closing on 64. You twenty and thirty-somethings. You’ve got nothing on us older folk. A twenty year old wouldn’t have had the endurance to last long enough to enjoy every drop of our conversation. As it turned out, we’re a perfect match, achieving a level of rapture within (texting) seconds of each other!
• The whole invasive, tubes in all kinds of places, round of medical procedures is all over. The body/throat/stomach/intestines appear to be fine and intact. Got a throat stretch in the process, not to mention a thorough, healthy ‘cleaning’.  Only damage will be to the pocketbook.  (Note to you naysayers out there-under Obama Healthcare Colonoscopys are FREE, relatively speaking!) No more crap like that for another 10 years! Yippee.

Why this expose on my life as an “older” woman? I’ll be turning FIFTY EIGHT YEARS OLD next week. Holy Crap, Batman!

Really.

I Want Life To Be Easy

I can’t sit still. I need to work and yet a million things flow through my head. The rewrite, the moss on the roof, sticks in the yard, the forgotten payment I still haven’t mailed. Where to query? What can I do (as she pauses remembering the 2 lottery tickets from yesterday…win the lottery and then just delete the post) …

Sigh. I’m back.

I’m numb. Then I’m anxious. Restless, caught in a spiral of denials and letting go and regrets. Looking for a quick fix. An easy answer.

I want life to be easy.

It’s the statement that floats around my head these days. It’s not that I don’t understand the difficulty of life. It’s not that I haven’t encountered, tackled and continue to handle incredibly difficult situations. But, I’m not really accepting that Life Is Not Easy. That means I have to work harder. Like my life depended on it.

Where’s my safety net? Safety nets. Don’t we all have more than one?

I let go of one last week. It’s knocked me on my ass. It was the ‘don’t worry, I’m not really alone’ net. One I’ve been clutching to for years, almost 9.

Funny. I’ve had to let go of all kinds of shit in the last 30 days.

• The colonoscopy/endoscopy procedures done under the same sedation. We all know that kind of letting go that entailed. Plus the trust that all would go well and nothing serious would be discovered.
• The clog in my pipes. Water on laundry room floor, sewage in guest shower stall. TWICE
• Four or five days without power. I lost a refrigerator and 2 freezers full of food. Every fucking condiment I owned had to be thrown away. All the wonderful jams, pestos, sauces, exotic mustards. Dumped. And, of course I can’t replace them all. The frig looked beautiful. I’ve always loved white space so a moment of rejoicing! (ha ha)
• My vision of life as easy-peasy. No more thinking I can casually find work, money, fame, happiness, the best sex on the planet, the ideal man. It’s the casual part I am having to grapple with.

Hmm… Only five little deadly bullet points. It feels like more. It is. I let go of something, someone, I needed to let go of a long time ago. Done it before, but never permanently. My safety net. My love. The one I want but can’t have.

I  knew we’d never have more and have struggled mightily at times, expending life-sucking energy, to “be ok” with my choice. That’s what brings numbness, it keeps me from sitting on the left side of the sofa. Nostalgic over coffee on Wednesday mornings. Temporarily losing my sex drive (GAWD, I know, but really it’s a good thing…there is no one around to play with!) . Turning the bottle of Wild Turkey to the corner, like a bad boy, so I can’t see the label–which is way better than just drinking the damn stuff in one sitting.

Yes, I’m whining. Part grief, part story-telling. Part exorcism.

We all let go. Life isn’t easy for any of us. I know that. You know that. Some days are better than others:

Some days are dry, some days are leaky
Some days come clean, other days are sneaky
Some days take less, but most days take more
Some slip through your fingers and onto the floor
Some days you’re quick, but most days you’re speedy
Some days you use more force than is necessary
Some days just drop in on us

 

 

How Not To Charm The Pants Off a Woman

Naughty me, I’m going to tell the story of a recent dating flop…because I can. I can’t share this anywhere else because I don’t want to be seen as the tattle-tale type. This is a story of what happens when a man lets his dick tell him what to do.

Let’s call him Arthur. I’ve never dated a man named Arthur so it seems safe.

Arthur contacted me on last Thursday through a free dating site. Newly separated but living in the same house. Kiss of death for me, but I agree to coffee on Sunday, after getting confirmation that he was dating ‘publicly’.

We met for a mere 90 minutes. Conversation flowed fairly smoothy and the peck on the cheek at departure was adequate. In less than 2 hours I get this text:” I find you interesting, passionate, beautiful, witty charming and somebody I love to be with,,,oh…and sexy as hell!”

OK. So, flattery is always wonderful and I knew I looked good that day. You know how you look in the mirror and instantly know if you look hot or not?

Monday morning I get an email, it’s waiting for me when I get up. Title: Good Morning Luv.

Tuesday morning, it’s just Morning. Here’s a snippet of his note:

was just thinking about how great a whole day would be.Something I do hope we can do soon. A whole day. Beginning to end.
Haven’t done that in a long time. Wake up(together would be optional)in AM do something you LOVE to do, PM something I LOVE to do and evening something we both lOVE to do. Wouldn’t that be great? It would be for me anyway. No distractions. just sharing our souls for an extended period of time. I’d enjoy that.

Now remember, we’ve had one brief date over coffee and no phone conversations just texting.

I push for a second date and we have dinner that night. Again less than 2 hours together. He’s getting all hot and bothered, I can see it in his eyes. He touches my hand a couple of times and as we walk to the car he grabs my hand. Kiss at car is a bit more personal but I keep it short in a basic “I don’t really know you yet”  kind of kiss. He saunters off to his car looking like a satisfied man. The conversation was pleasant but not riveting. I don’t offer up anything that indicates a growing interest. But, I do notice that he’s talking about all the things we’ll do over time and acts as if the engagement is about to be announced.

Wednesday morning: He calls me Magical in his email as he talks about how relaxed he is in my presence. Pants still zipped at this point.

Thursday morning, 5:29am : He starts with a poem-

“My minds distracted and diffused,
My thoughts are many mies away,
They lie with you when you’re asleep.
And kiss you when you start your day.

Some words to say good morning and to wish I was there next to you.”

Now, I love the art of seduction. And, like many women, flattery will often get you where you want to be. But this? Borderline creepy.

Me: Nice poem-lovely. And, here’s the thing. I don’t know yet if I will have the feelings that you seem to have. We’ve only had 2 dates, fairly short and I don’t have that sense yet. We are getting along nicely and connecting, but I’m not feeling as strong a romantic pull as you are. It’s lovely to be wooed in this way and very flattering. You are a very sweet man and I am enjoying getting to know you.

Maybe we can just take it a bit slower and see how things progress? I don’t want to give you false hope.

This unleashes this torrent of passionate declaration. Before I can even read the email he’s sending texts.  Instead of hearing me he goes on to write that if I would allow him to see me ALONE! that he could make me see how attracted to him I really am. He tells me he knows me better than I think he does.. .I wouldn’t let that man in my house for all the money in the world at this point!

Talk about a man who isn’t listening:

Me:  I don’t want to roll into bed with you just yet. I want us to take a
 leisurely amount of time really getting to know each other. Sex clouds the
 issue sometimes. Don’t you think?
Him:  I believe there is a sexual attraction or I simply  wouldn’t feel it either–and I do. We wouln’t be committing to sex, I
just want the chance to really woo you in the way that I really am. I think it would be very pbvious if we were feeling it being right in a
short period of time. I would like that chance.

I tell him again that he’s moving too fast. Slow down, back off… I teIl him to take a cold shower.

Him: I feels (in response to my question of what he means by wooing me)  like holding you in my arms and really kissing you–no limp little half ass attemps but really kissing you–speaking of asses, I happen to love yours.  I t feels like wrapping your body around me–clothing always optional–and feeling the real magic of touch saying all the things that are real. should be real and can be real. I know you. I know what you want and need.

End of story! I finally sent a succinct note saying nicely that we were done. And, I ignored the next 2 emails. And holding my breath as he’s still looking at my profile. I fear that he’ll be back.

Moral of the story? Don’t lead with your genitals.

Sump Pumps, Tsarinas and All Things Exotic and Unknown

Sump Pump. The first words that popped up as I awoke this morning, unclenching my jaws and noting the light outside. Later than usual…a Sunday, 7 am. The Bob Edwards show on NPR and my mind fractured. I went to bed last night at a more reasonable hour,  after an hour of red wine and Catherine the Great. After a day of client work, at the computer, seeing the gorgeous spring unfolding around me.

It’s one of those weekends. I haven’t had one in quite a while. Friday I went for drinks with a girlfriend at our favorite bar. She went home to cook dinner for hubby, I moved to a cafe table in the bar and had dinner. Before vacating my barstool I talked briefly with a frequent bar patron–an acquaintance I hadn’t seen in months. He commented on my long hair, I commented on his, and then, surprisingly, he asked if I was dating anyone. He’s not the type to ask that kind of question. It threw me.  The official answer is no. I’m not seeing anyone. I get on my preferred online dating site, Okcupid, for a brief look and find nothing desirable within a 70 mile radius. Apparently no one finds me all that desirable either. I’m not even trying at this point.

 I’m having my dinner with a glass of wine as the bar fills. From my vantage point I can see people as they enter the restaurant as well. Everyone is paired off. Friday night is couples night. The couple at the far corner of the bar are acting like teens, not mature adults of 50+ years. I sit alone, in full view. It started the weekend off poorly. Two Cosmos. A glass of wine with dinner. Driving home I see couples, only couples. By 9 pm I’m in bed. You can’t think when you’re asleep.

Why was this Friday different from the last 20 Friday nights I spent all alone? Wednesday I discovered that the scar tissue in my esophagus has grown back, not as severely as last year but… And, I have esophageal dysmotility. That’s new. This is all similar to what happened last March. I don’t know what the motility thing really means. I watched on the screen as the liquid barium trickled down my throat, paused and then continued on. It should have been a steady flowing stream. I saw the little barium pill get stuck in my throat. Weird.

Shit happens. I’m tough. I’ve dealt with my own fair share of adversity-alone. And, it’s the alone part that triggers my ‘stuff’. Swanlady reminded me that in the midst of my broken foot trauma almost 2 years ago I had a partner and yet was essentially alone in dealing with that situation.

 A momentary blip on the why-am-I-all-alone and why-doesn’t-anyone-want-to-be-my-man screen. The solution? Well it’s not booze and hours of sleeping. I’ve always handled the issues in my family life, even when there was a spouse around. This is really minor stuff, this throat of mine. No hotdog eating contests for me. Another career opportunity squashed.

Catherine the Great didn’t like being alone either. For the very same reasons. She wanted stimulating conversation, the comfort of someone who cared (even if the care was paid for in rubles and jewels) and be a companion. She could bestow favors on her young men. She could demand they be at her side. Alas, those are things I can’t do.

Maybe Sump Pump is some magical hint from The Universe? I don’t have one in my house, nor do I need one (but yes, I know what they are and what they do, etc….). So, it must be something important, something that could change circumstances for me.

I think I’ll call my therapist.

Me and My SpongeBob-Boy

Let me take this opportunity to brag a little. I am a bright, good looking, sexy woman in my late 50′s. I have no criminal record, I give a mean blow job and I have all my own teeth. Oh, and I own a house with more than one full bath. What’s not to love about me? Apparently there is something askew because, as my faithful long-time readers know, I am clearly incapable of finding a good match in the dating world. I have found plenty of wack-jobs, married men, morons, sociopaths, pervs and so on…….

I am not actively looking right now though my profile is visible on one of the free dating sites, where it gets very little attention. Until last night. Mr. Jason (Thank God he’s not a Mike or a Joe) is hot to trot for me. We are a 51% match according to the site’s calculation–an overly optimistic assessment in my book . Jason is 3 inches shorter than me and possibly less educated?  His photos included a shot of him in one of those tasselled Mason type hats and the hot pose of him you see above. Sorry, but I had to post that (using the full range of my photoshopping skills I blacked out his face).

His beguiling letter:

how’s it going?!believe me you are extra-gorgeous and you’ve got a very unique style and thats mind blowing.s!Your photo caught my eye as well. You have these gorgeous eyes, and your smile absolutely made my day.u look like a character in one of them romance novel….well Let’s email a little bit to see if we’d get along well. I’m playing in a friendly tournament with some friends in a few weeks, and I’d love to bring a solid partner to cheer me up.lol..so tell me about your pretty self,i want to get to know lot of beautiful things about you…happy new year and hope you are having a wonderful weekend

 

I am contemplating how, or if, I will answer. But, I’m flattered and grateful for the attention.

Now It’s Time to Bring In the Exorcist

I love the phrase What The Fuck. It was designed for me. Because I appear to be in What the Fuck Land-every day now. Yet, I’m still smiling so there is a Not What The Fuck God out there somewhere.

As you recall things were going awry in my world. I feared that someone had put a voodoo curse on me.  The fuel tank ran dry-I got 150 gallons and I’m able to use heat for the moment. The coffeepot finally died and I replaced it with a cheapo Krups ($39.99 after rebate) which I hate-it is the loudest coffee pot I’ve ever heard/seen. The computer issue which was really a bad mouse? I bought the new computer out of frustration.

Then it started again. Thanksgiving weekend, Saturday morning to be more precise, the Comcast modem died. Died. The Comcast tech was very nice and scheduled a service call for Sunday morning between 8:30 and 11. No problem-they were, after all, giving me a new modem and no service fee. So when the modem rose from the dead Saturday night I still insisted on a new one and now things are groovy.

But, only for a split second. My NEW computer started acting up and on Wednesday morning it died! Yes, the computer I bought on Nov. 12 died on Nov. 30. When the nice but simple-minded customer service dude at Best Buy asked if I planned to buy a new computer after my refund I nearly went ballistic. “No, I’m not buying a new computer, you’re going to go get another one just like this one and bring it to me. Then you’re going to take them both to the Geek Squad and have all the data transferred from the old, new computer to the new new one.” He started with those calming techniques people use with postal Postal workers. We’re all good now, though the data transfer and resetting up of the new new computer took hours.

But, wait.. That in and of itself surely doesn’t call for an exorcist?

Friday night I get home from work, open mail to find a letter from BLUE CROSS BLUE SHIELD/ANTHEM saying that my rate is changing, though their “...focus everyday is on improving the lives of the people we serve.…” RIGHT. My $713 a month will now be $834 a month starting Jan. 1.  They devoted an additional page to talking about health care reform and why any change on my part to allow me to live and eat and buy gas would jeopardize my status with healthcare reform. Reads more like a threat to me. Of course there is the whole debate on whether health care reform will survive the debacle we call politics. And heavens, lets not get started on how this marvelous country of ours can’t manage to feed the poor or provide adequate, reasonably priced healthcare.

That was Friday night. Saturday afternoon’s mail includes a letter from my life insurance people. Yep!  Rate increase due to a renewal based on my age. Deep breaths. Though I actually have to chuckle at the spate of shit coming my way. I’m having dinner with a friend so I escape the Demon house for a few hours. Arriving home at 10:30 PM, I hit the garage door opener as I fly in the drive. Yep. It’s broken, door won’t open, though track makes an attempt to move. To my fairly experienced eye I can’t see any obvious issues I might address. Can’t afford a service call quite yet so for now:  Car-driveway. Garage-empty.

Sunday was a day of rest, even for the devil. And, so far Monday is going smoothly. Of course it’s only 7:30 AM. Not touching the television as I think we have a problem there, but I can’t drink this early in the day so I will put that out of my mind.

Swanlady suggests I find a good man who is a ‘fix-it-upper’. I remind her that I dated one or two or fifty of those types and the sliding door off of the kitchen still doesn’t work. Only male-related solutions I can come up with right now?

1. Offer to ‘do’ the service guy(s).

2. Breakdown and date some wealthy old 75-80 year old. I’d have to ‘do’ him too, I’m sure.

If you know a good Exorcist call me.

Three Times A….. Lady?

Things come in multiples sometimes. A string of breakages After the laptop, fuel oil, coffee pot debacle, this weekend my modem died! The good news there was that Comcast gave me a free modem and free tech support! (Click here to supply music for this post, you’ll understand when you get to the end)

Last week was also the week that three old BF’s, partners, lovers…whatever, got in touch with me. The Joes stand out. One wrote to ask the name of the cafe where we first met. I googled it, something he could have done, and sent the answer. We emailed a bit, he let me know that the this-must-be-the-real-thing-Love is no longer. I haven’t pushed or offered anything up other than the appropriate condolences . The emails served to remind me that life in his world is just that…centered around his world.

The other Joe, with whom I had an 18 month relationship, found me on an IM session and surprised me with a chat request. I obliged, because I am nothing if not nice. We chatted a bit; he asked about my finances, my car, my children, my love life…but didn’t ask if I was happy or how my foot was doing. I could tell he’d been drinking as he eventually got snarky. I ignored it and most of his more personal questions. Then he began to get all soft and nostalgic, then he got crude. He said I would always be wet dream material (tiny violins and all). If we’d been together, he might have seen milk spurt out of my nose. It was hilarious, or as my granddaughter says “high-larious”. I got off line pretty quickly after that one, as I could see that things were rapidly deteriorating.  But not quickly enough to avoid that kind of arrogant, presumptuous question that only a man would ask… Are you wet? (and apologies for my/his crudeness). Really? Of course the answer was no, but why on earth would a man think that his compliment would be that powerful? It was a crude compliment at best and said more about him and his crap than about me.

Secretly, I’m in awe of the fact that ANYONE would consider this 57 year old, saggy-boobed grandmother* the reason for their nocturnal emissions.  As is often said, for all kinds of things, consider the source! I didn’t get that comment from a hot, trim sexy 45 year old. Or 55 year old for that matter…..

But, for a brief moment I was able to have a big laugh, enjoy the pathos, contrived or not, of the whole moment and delight in yet another topic for blogging.

 

 

Now, if this guy were saying it…. well my response might have been different.

 

 

 

 

 

 

* I like to joke about the saggy boob thing, but I do happen to believe that I’m attractive. Just to set the record straight here

Mojo? Voodoo!

Clearly The Universe wants me to live-but it wants me to experience challenge…every fucking nanosecond of the day.

Computer works like a dream. “Old” computer sits idly by taunting and reminding me of the wireless mouse mischief.

Coffee pot has been continuing its Exorcist like possession until this morning. Monday. Cold. Coffee pot won’t do any anything. Not even pretend there are beans to grind. I am forced to heat water on stove and pour it in manually. Not sure how to proceed but I guarantee that the next pot will NOT be a Cuisinart. This is the second one, identical model, that has failed. Of course, I’ll investigate shipping it off for repairs but suspect it’s not worth the money and hassle of standing in line at the post office.

As if last week weren’t stressful enough, on Friday night at approximately 7:31 PM, my 500 gallon oil tank ran dry. Bringing both furnaces to a sputtering, chugging halt. I live in my ex’s childhood home. A delightful house in the woods with ceiling to floor windows for 60% of the walls. Old, 1959 windows…with no curtains. And, cathedral ceilings. In the woods-very little sunshine. Love it and hate it.

I use the same oil company my father-in-law used. They have not modernized so there is no answering machine, no emergency service and no contact information on their office door. I’ve had a chilly weekend-heating with the double oven, doors open, a space heater, electric blanket and 3 shirts most of the time.

I’m hopeful that simply giving me oil will work. I can only buy at increments, as a full tank probably costs $1600-$1800. And, last year when this happened it screwed up the furnaces when they sucked up the sludge from the bottom of the tank,  which necessitated a service call from heating/cooling guys!  Fingers crossed as I can’t imagine having to ‘do’ the service guy in exchange for a discount.

Really, people. Enough. Really.

I contemplated myself from some remote, cloud-like distance at some point this weekend. Saturday night probably, I was supplementing heat sources with bourbon (How can she bitch about money when she obviously has money for booze?    ‘Cause ya know one of you is thinking that) . And wondered why I wasn’t more stressed out overall and how I manage to put on a pleasant face and go about my business. I thank some cosmic force for not giving me the suicidal gene. The combination of cold, tight finances, a third night of spaghetti and no man in my life….and let’s not forget the lovely cheerful rampant consumerism that is Christmas, is really getting to me.

Really. Now it’s time to nuke the coffee, pop into a cool shower and put on my game face for another exciting day at a job I hate. Happy Monday to you too.

Who’s Messing with My Mojo?

Really… can’t we just have some peaceful sailing here.

My recent, and third, part-time job has morphed into a bit of a nightmare. What started as marketing and writing is becoming a push for me to do hard sales tactics! At an embarrassing low rate of pay in a disorganized way of doing business.  I think I’m trying to quit but it doesn’t seem to be happening.

The guy I had one date with 2 months ago, wrote last night to ask when I was going to get around to calling/emailing him!  ????

Finances got even tighter last week when the computer started acting up. Hours of troubleshooting, consults with techie types and hundreds of dollars later (put on a credit card) I bought a new computer-on credit. Guess what? The problem was my old wireless mouse. The computer was fine.  One can only laugh at this latest bit of mischief from the Universe. While learning to type on 2 (perfectly good) computers simultaneously.

Yesterday, out of the blue, the coffee pot, the expensive fancy coffee pot, starts to grind coffee beans–beans that aren’t there!  Did it again this morning. Is it possessed? I’ll have to start drinking instant, as repair is out of the question.

I am sure there is a bright side out there somewhere but for the life of me I’m not sure what it is. This is just like a comedic-psycho-drama. I headed out this morning to see the about-to-be former boss with a fake smile and a big dose of ‘suck it up, baby’.  Driving down the road I came up on a dead squirrel in the road, with one leg/arm straight  in the air. I burst out laughing… hilarity bordering on hysteria. Was the squirrel going down fighting or crying ‘uncle’? Whatever the real story, it brightened the morning.

As I write now. I’ve not been let go, I’ve actually agreed to stay on with a revamped position that is just the things I want to do and not the stuff I can’t stand doing. No pay raise, but the customized bit was pretty sweet.

Feeling better. Almost as good as if I’d had a fabulous tumble under the sheets.

Older Man Uses Younger Woman To Stroke Ego…and More

Hi, my name is Deliriously Divine. I’m 57 and I’m a date-aholic.

Ha ha. It feels like that at times. I’m weary of this dating crap. I’m weary of wacko guys and mis-matched expectations. No more men who want to grope or who profess love on the first date. When I think back on the men I’ve met or conversed with in the last 9 or so years I want to just cry… when I’m not laughing. But really. This is absurd. I’m embarking on a ‘plan’ to discover what kind of fun I can have in the company of women… and more importantly, all by myself.

Yesterday’s encounters with 2 men only reaffirmed that for me. One guy I’ve known casually for a few years. We  happened to be at the coffee shop at the same time yesterday morning and he was telling me about his first online date coming this weekend.  The other was sitting near me at the bar and we ended up talking for about 2 hours…and three bourbons.  My original intent was to order dinner to-go and have a drink while I waited. I came home in such a (tipsy) funk that all I could do was go to bed.

Both of these men are in the late 40′s- to early 50′s. Both are divorced and have difficulty controlling their dicks. To be blunt. One has been married three times. The evening guy, only once, but he admits to having been a serial philanderer. I conversed with both, not out of a sense of attraction but rather from curiosity. As I’m sitting in the bar with this guy, he’s totally dominating the conversation. I learn about his 29 year old girlfriend, who is essentially an expensive whore. She seeks out rich older men. One even bought her a BMW. As I hear this I’m muttering, “shit, what am I doing wrong?” He knows she’s doing this but has convinced himself that he loves her and vice versa.  The beauty of feeling no interest, and have a drink in hand, is that I could be as bold as I wanted. So, I drilled him with a dozen questions and challenges.  He seems to think it’s fine that she’s cajoling, screwing and otherwise doing any nasty job it takes to get $$$ from these guys, because she has to meet her financial obligations. He’s lavishing her with gifts, etc, but refuses to think that he might be one of her guys. I failed to ask what might happen if he stopped giving her money!

As this conversation is going on, an attractive silver haired gentleman, well dressed and obviously classy, man sits down 2 seats away from this guy. He clearly hears us and looks my way often. I was contemplating engaging him in the conversation when his “date” walks in. Yep, she was probably 25, in a sleeveless black dress, one shoulder bare-but not all that attractive. I can feel my eyebrows rise!  And, ‘my’ guy acknowledges that we’re seeing the same thing in action right there. The silver fox continued to look my way occasionally and we made eye contact. He knew what I was thinking.  They left the bar and went upstairs to have dinner, depriving me of the opportunity to watch.

Un-believable! I was just stunned. No wonder women my age can’t find a man. They’re all flocking to nubile lightweights who stroke their egos and more. My guy’s lover has a high school education. Period.  As he  we chatted, he talked about older women and their constant attraction to him, but he made no moves to ‘court’ me. I wasn’t complimenting him or oohing and aahing over all his properties and wealth-which he kept referring to. I knew that a little more flattering, ego-stroking from me might have at least gotten me a free drink. I’m a flirt and I’m good at it. But, I couldn’t bring myself to give this guy what he needed. Prostituting myself to get a free drink.

All three of these men, I’m guessing about the silver fox, need to be in control. They choose younger women who are flawed (they both admit that) and use money and charm and other emotional traps to hook these women. Girls, as he called them. And, they brag about it. Mr. Bar Guy even told me he’d gotten laid that afternoon.

Men who will never grow up. Men who won’t be able to effectively date a woman their own age because they don’t know how to relate to an equal. I wouldn’t want either of them but I admit to being as irritated as I was amused. I am reminded of a blogger who puts out that same kind of charm, who also likes young women, girls.

I feel so anger at guys like that and I feel a sense of dismay and sadness for these young women who use their bodies to get by. I’m sure they’d say their actions gave these men a sense of well-being. The bar guy admits that he has more self-confidence. But, I’m not really sure that bragging about giving money to a young woman for the right to bang her on your lunch hour is all that noteworthy?

My regret? That I didn’t write a note on the bar napkin for the silver headed guy. “I could give you a more satisfying evening than she will”.