This past October, I turned 50. There. I’ve said it out loud. Fifty. I can’t tell you what a relief it was to finally be 50. For the last five years, when asked my age, I would reply with a countdown to 50. “How old are you?” “I’ll be 50 in five years… I’ll be 50 in a year… I’ll be 50 in a few months.” I stopped stating my exact age. Now, however, I’m relieved of the burden of the mathematical conundrum and, consequently, life has become more enjoyable.
It’s not that I’ve ever dreaded 50. I’m very lucky to state that I have never been an adult age I didn’t love. I love being 50. I mean, really, what’s the alternative? I’m guessing – dead. Fifty, regardless of the societal implications for a woman, is far more preferable than dead.
Unless you’re on a dating website. All of a sudden, I’m in a new category of availability. Back in the old days being labeled ‘divorced’ was a stigma for women. Now it’s being 50. Why do I say this? Well, let’s start with the amazing reduction in viewers to my profile since my birthday. Where I previously enjoyed 10 to 20 sets of eyes per week, I’m now lucky to be viewed by five. Then there are the ages of my viewers. My profile range is still the same. I’m looking for someone within a year or two of my own age. Fifty is a great time for men. They seem to be at their best at 50. But, for some reason, 50 year-old men are looking for 30 to 40 year-old women. I’ve suddenly found myself the target of 60 plus year-old men.
The last man to write was interesting. Sixty-three years old. Not terribly handsome. Pale face. Bald head. Puffy, overly red lips. But his profile was amazing! He wrote to me and mentioned that, other than my age limits, he was perfect for me! Would I meet him for coffee? I actually gave this some serious thought. Then I thought about equality. I thought about a 63 year-old woman dating a 50 year-old man. She would be labeled a predatory mountain lion. A cougar. I thought about myself at his age and how, if it were to work out, he’d be 76 to my 63. So I chose not to choose. I put it to him and asked him if he would be willing to date a woman, right now, 13 years his senior. After a wonderfully evasive response reminiscent of the last mid-term elections, he gave me descriptions of his many male friends and the younger women “they all date.” I politely replied, “No, thank you.” I told him I would never date a man who would ask me to do something that he wouldn’t do himself. I don’t want to be 63, which I consider still vital and sexy, with a 76 year-old man. I’d like to be 63 with a 63 year-old man. Aaahhh, the wisdom of age.
Write to Julie: writelove@sbcglobal.net.