Dream Date

Does anyone really want to hear about septuagenarian dating? We’ve seen it all, lived it all, or in the jargon of the millennials, been there, done that. Here I am a 70ish slightly overweight sagging boobs and varicose veins gal, primping for my date. Thanks to my thyroid I don’t even have to shave my legs. Peering into the mirror I wonder who is looking back at me. I squint and see the earlier version of me—silky smooth skin and luscious full lips. I was the girl all the guys wanted, cute, funny and brainier than all of them. My mind returns again to 50 years ago, anxiously waiting for those geeky boys to press the doorbell of my parents home; the awkward small talk that would ensue when their true thoughts were how they would get into my pants. Thankfully, today there are no parents. It's been a hell of a year with COVID raging, endless quarantining, boredom and loneliness. I think loneliness was the worst. I spent countless hours watching various shows and living vicariously through the glamourous main characters. Going on a date after a year like 2020 is definitely an adventure. Would it be as exciting as in the movies? Would I remember how to act?

Perusing a silver dating site, I connected with someone who seemed wise and funny. Maybe someone I’d let into my bed? We made a bit of small talk… but is that really necessary these days? We cut to the chase and discussed the important issues at hand: Have you had COVID? Are you fully vaccinated and what vaccine did you get? After confirming we were two vaccinated singles, we decided to meet in person.

Alone with my thoughts, waiting for him to arrive, I allowed myself the luxury of imagining who this aging Prince Charming might be. Would he be an old fart who probably can barely get it up? Do I care? What am I doing? What am I looking for? Do I really need this? My first marriage was for love, and anyone who knows me has heard me say that the second time around I’m marrying for money. No more struggling. I’m in my last trimester and I want it all.

My date, a retired investment banker, is due to arrive by six pm. I guess he wants to catch the Early Bird Special, I joke to myself. He wasn’t specific about our plan so I’m dressed casually in slacks and a silky red shirt. I glance in the mirror and I know I look damn good for an old broad. I look out for his car and hope it doesn’t have stained material seats. I hate to sound like a superficial bitch but that would definitely be a deal breaker. I peer through the window trying to get a sneak peek. My heart begins to pound and my face becomes flushed. He’s here. I guess it doesn’t matter how old you are, the same old feelings are there; I’m an insecure 16 year old again. Now I wish my dad was here to open the door and have that awkward moment. I hear the chimes and I’m up at the plate. I should have considered a Xanax, an Adderall or better yet a joint to calm these jitters. I guess a glass of wine might work.

I open the door and a six foot silver fox enters. Now I know why I’m a terrible poker player; a silly school girl grin spreads across my face. Easy, girl don’t declare victory just yet I caution myself. We greet each other with a warm hug and from the look on his face I suspect he isn’t disappointed either. “Can I offer you a drink?” is my lame attempt at getting a conversation started. He graciously declines and says, “Let’s go, I have a better idea.” Take charge approach, I Iike that. We stroll towards his chariot, a sleek black Benz. He passes the test- no stained material seats. It smells of a recent car wash and lilacs. Had I mentioned in our conversations that I loved lilacs? He opens the car door and drives us to a nearby lake just as the sun is setting. Sitting on the bench by the side of the water, watching the sky turn shades of purple and blue, my silver fox pulls out two wine crystal goblets and a bottle of Merlot. He carefully pours our drinks and we toast, “To Life.”