I know friends, coworkers, and acquaintances who have met significant others online. “Hell no! I’m not doing it!” I say. Pride. Sheer pride. I’m also not one to go running after boys. Only once did I do something mildly resembling pursuing. In high school there was a boy I saw hanging around the school, never in it. I told a few people that I liked him. “Who IS that guy?” I would ask, knowing it would get back to him. And it did. So he came to my house. I gave him a shot gun with a joint. Later on I told him how I thought that it was so hot to be that close to him like that. He told me that he liked it when we talked in adjacent chairs and I put my foot on the chair between his legs. He was gregarious, very attractive, very wild. He cowed a guy who took out a gun and threatened to kill him. “You better put that fucking gun away or I’ll bust your fucking ass!” He told him and the guy just ran off. I also enjoyed somewhat of a wild style and liked boys who looked rocked out, dirty dirty boys. The boy I’m referring to was named after the astronaut who went into orbit the same year that he was born. He was named after an astronaut and I was, as my friends called me, a ‘space cadet’. He had wild parties in his parents’ house, smoked lots of weed, and played in a band. He introduced me to the music of all these cool bands like Mahavishnu, King Krimson, and artists like Annette Peacock. A lot of elements of what I wanted were there but we were not mature enough to be connected to anything solid. It was two and a half years of not quite getting it, especially with all the alcohol and other stuff involved. He had all the pieces of a type that I like. I suppose I’d punch those elements in today if I were to do the online dating thing.
But fuck that shit – I’d rather die!! I’m fifty in November. It’s THAT age. I know people still hooking up anew at this age. But I don’t, as I’ve said before, want to be one of these poor old women pining for a man well into her 70s. Gotdammit I’ve had my chances! And I have the enduring love for my family, friends… I absolutely want nothing but to continue my relationship with writing… But…‘twould be nice if the right fella came along, old, young, hung, not so hung… Eh…
About a year and a half ago I was in Dunkin Donuts talking on the cell with my Mummy. A man slipped me a note on a Dunkin Donuts napkin that said:
I’m so sorry to bother you but I find you to be the most beautiful, well-spoken intelligent woman I have ever seen. I’m not sure if you’re talking to your significant other but I must give you my resume. I’m single, 43, employed, live alone, I don’t have any children and want to have lunch with you if you allow me to treat you. My name is ________. [phone number]
As a writer, I save all letters. I stored this one away thinking I’d put it to good use. Of course ________ wouldn’t think that I put it to good use because I never called________. ________ was…okay looking. I was highly flattered. Hell, I ain’t got nothing else going on now – well, there is this twenty-something kid I’m wondering if I could “cougar” for a couple of hours if you know what I mean — wink wink…
1800ukillme 