So you may have noticed — I have a few issues with my looks, with getting older, with my complete inability to understand how I can be the only human being alive who gains weight in the summer, while everyone else says things like “Oh, it’s so hot, I couldn’t think of eating!”
For a few years now, I’ve felt that I lost that “certain something” that men find attractive. Not that I was ever such a looker, but youth (and, ok 36DD’s) did have their privileges. I used to be able to smile and bat my eyes and have a chance at getting faster service from the plumber, a better cut of meat from the butcher, you know the drill. Now, I’m getting the Patagonia guy comparing me to his mother.
But today, in the Hamptons Bays King Kullen supermarket, I found my audience: men over seventy. Seriously. To these guys, I am a babe. Even today, in my totally formless smock-style Zachary’s Smile sundress (on sale at Barney’s Coop last year, so cute!), Lands End flip flops, and with my twins and husband in tow, these guys couldn’t take their eyes off me. (And in this particular smock dress, trust me “the girls” were NOT on display.)
Now, there was a time when the adulation of septuagenarians might have repulsed me. There was a time when it might have just made me laugh. There was also a time, however, when I didn’t have to search for errant chin hairs in the bathroom mirror. Times change.
Today, the looks those guys were giving me — completely non-threatening, just-looking looks, by the way — made me feel attractive. Hey, the older I get, the younger they seem. I’m not saying that, were the unthinkable to happen, and I were to find myself alone for some reason like aliens abducting my husband, (I can’t even joke about anything more realistic than that) that I would necessarily date men in their seventies. But it’s nice to know I could.
You know, like I don’t really go to the Metropolitan Opera. But it’s only a short walk from my apartment, and it’s nice to know I could go if I wanted to. Or, I don’t plan on getting liposuction, or the totally awesome sounding but I don’t really know enough about it, and yet boy would I love to try it velashape treatment (Velashape people, are you listening?), but it’s nice to know that should my flab get completely out of control, should exercise fail to save my falling buttocks, or should those aliens really appear and abduct the hubby and I need to date again — well it’s nice to know it’s an option.
And these older guys. Well, there are some definite benefits.
- I’d always be young to them. I mean, hey, no matter how you slice it, thirty years is a big age difference.
- If it doesn’t work out I won’t have to hang in there for too long. I mean, we’re talking guys who are already in the their 70’s — how much time do you think they’ve got?
- If I’m not in the mood, I could always hide their Viagra.
Anyway, all of this is moot. I’m not going to be with anyone in his seventies — until my husband hits the big seven-oh. And guess what — for the first four years of his seventies…I’ll still be in my sixties. Check back then, and I’ll tell you how it is to date an older man.
Until then, I’m heading back to King Kullen. I hear they’re having a special on prune juice. My audience should be there in full force.