What Makes A Woman Old?

I got my feelings hurt last night. This morning, I’m still butt-hurt over it and I’m trying to understand why.

The guys were bullshitting in the garage, as is usual on a Friday night. I look forward to those conversations as much as they do. Cold drinks, good company, lots of good-natured trash-talk, lots of laughter, and lots of love.

I’m usually the only girl involved in garage sessions because our regular boys fly solo, sometimes by choice, sometimes by fate.

A long marriage ended for one friend when his wife broke the sacred rule of fidelity and then left him several years ago. He might have thrown her out; I’m not sure of that detail, but I am sure it does not matter. Good riddance to bad garbage.

He dates off and on and over the years, introduced us to a couple of great girls we really liked and a couple we definitely didn’t.

All his girls were close to the same age as our friend, and us, too.

Last night he danced around the subject of entertaining a new lady at his place a few nights over the last month or so. It was no surprise to us; he’s been single for half a year, and he rarely lasts longer than that without a girl.

The other guys were dogging him about keeping her secret and they pestered him for her picture, which he finally produced. Good looking gal, and obviously a few years younger than him. The badgering then took on grampa vs. daddy status and the boys enjoyed a good time hounding each other with old man ribs.

The conversation took a surprising turn to young women versus older women when our friend said he liked young women because they’re always ready to go with him on adventures. Then our other friend chimed in and said he understood because older women don’t like to go out or do a lot of things, preferring to stay home and stay in.

Holy shit, it hurt me just to write that. It hit me like a thunderbolt when he said it, and it still stings my heart.

I love these men, adore them. I mean, with my whole heart. They are my brothers.

The first thing I thought was fuck you, old man. You take three naps every day and do next to nothing unless you have to. Why are you speaking of older women as if they have nothing to offer? Like they’re no good to anyone and they’re boring?

Old women are boring how? They lie around and do nothing after what? Working all day? Raising your babies? Running errands? Cleaning your house, taking care of pets, taking care of aging parents, cooking for you, taking care of you?

Is a woman’s worth found only in her willingness to go fishing or hiking or clubbing or drinking or racing or fucking you or whatever you want to do whenever you want to do it? Is that truly how you see us?

After a lifetime of putting up with your stupidness? We’re worth nothing?

The conversation hurt my heart, not because they would say such things in my presence, but that they think such things.

Now I know they think these things and I can’t un-know it.

The Titanic scene where the owners of Macy’s, the older couple holding each other until the end, refusing to leave without the other, sums up my life and my marriage. I’m going nowhere without my husband, and he’s going nowhere without me.

When I look at my husband, I don’t see a potbelly or bald head. I see my life. My entire life. I see a young man full of dreams and promises. Promises to me, promises he keeps every day.

So why is this bothering me so much? Who fucking cares if these two old men think older women are idle and tired and should be traded up?

I guess my hubris makes me believe my loved ones think much the same as me. Maybe that makes me as guilty of stupidness as them.

Maybe my soul is just fucking tired. Maybe my brain hurts from trying to make a better life. Maybe I fight my own demons every day, hating a job where I’m not appreciated, severely underpaid, and over-utilized to help us make a living.

Maybe I’ve made poor decisions with money and time over the years, maybe I could have treated people better, maybe it still breaks my heart that I couldn’t have children and there are no grandchildren in my old life, maybe I’m disappointed that people don’t treat each other better.

Maybe, hell yes, I fucking wish I had more energy in my older years. Maybe I wish I wasn’t fighting illness. Maybe I wish I was young again, with supple skin and firm breasts and long shiny hair and endless legs and tight muscles everywhere a man wishes a woman would have them, where I wish I still had them.

Maybe I wish I had a second chance to do it all over and do it smarter and better.

And maybe, just maybe, fuck you for thinking and saying things of the women who love you and protect you and keep you in their hearts.

And maybe, just maybe, just plainly, fuck you.

Maybe fuck you for making me feel insecure about time marching on and showing in the lines on my face.

Maybe I am old and tired and lazy. Maybe I don’t care what you think of me.

Or maybe, sadly, I do.

Maybe I should have said something. Maybe I didn’t know what to say.

Maybe there was nothing to say.

Maybe you don’t care about my tears, even the ones I shed for you.

Maybe I’ll wipe them away, put on my game face, and bring you boys some lunch while you work today.

What makes a woman old?

Maybe it’s you.