“No, I really don’t like to skinny dip on a first date, or ever, actually. Please let go of my hands.”
Are You A “Nurse” Or A “Purse” with Liz Coash
Every once in a while, like maybe every 6 months, I meet a guy, and there is a tiny spark, and I think, well, perhaps I’ll give it another go. But just like those statutory waiting periods for gun purchases, I’ve made a promise to myself not to dive headfirst into any romantic relationship, be it an overnighter or a potential life sentence. I take a step back, I google the crap out of that person’s name, scroll through their social media, check the database at the courthouse, and then I round out my investigation with a drive-by gander to assess the living “situation.” Ninety-five percent of the time, it’s a no-brainer… there’s no way I’m getting involved with this stud muffin. They are either looking for a “nurse,” who also cooks, cleans, and puts out, or they are looking for a “purse,” someone to hole up with who can pay the bills while they flirt with 20-something-year-olds as they sip expensive lattes at that coffee house on Main Street. With the “purses,” you can look forward to getting a piece of the action for about two months, just long enough to get emotionally attached. Soon thereafter, you’ll be enjoying fitful nights of sleep on the couch while he slumbers peacefully on your tempur-pedic mattress in the master suite (until noon, of course). Before long you’ll have purchased him a car and a new wardrobe, then off he goes!
If he looks like a dandy and smells like a dandy, guess what? He’s an asshole.
Then there are the 3%’ers who are really nice guys but already have a spouse. And the final 2%? Single, yeah, but they’re just frickin’ out of my league (and they haven’t figured that out yet). There are only so many dates you can go on where the clothes are not removed, if you catch my drift.
Definitely not available. Clues: fresh pressed shirt, to-do list in shirt pocket in neat cursive handwriting. The apron smacks of “don’t even strike up a conversation with my husband.” I think he looks a little like Mike Pence, don’t you?
Dating After 60: It’s A Minefield
You’ve got to ask yourself… IS IT WORTH IT?
Of course not. And let me tell you, I know this first hand. From experience. So for once in your life try to learn from the mistakes of others, UNLESS you love taking rides on emotional roller coasters after eating a bad hot dog.
Proposing on the first date: ALWAYS a bad sign.
Let’s start with some very hastily compiled facts on romance and divorce and relationship satisfaction/dissatisfaction before I drag you into a bunch of anecdotal clap trap:
• Trending: 1 out of every 4 people getting divorced are now over the age of 50
• Of the above, the majority are couples who’ve been married for 20+ years
• Stats show that as they age, women are better off single and (drum roll please), men are better off married
• Women grow dissatisfied with their marriages more quickly than men (what a shocker, right?!)
• Women are the ones most likely to dissolve the marriage (70% of the time… you don’t say)
• Women are better at living alone and savor solitude
• Single women do better in their old age (yep, in all things, but especially staying alive)
• I could go on, but it starts to get pretty rude, so let’s just stop there
The point is this: you’ve got to QUIT watching those frickin’ Hallmark movies and get real. Holy toots! One of my friends’ husbands (yes, a GUY) became so addicted to those that he slipped into a deep depression. We’d go out for brunch, and his weeping would be triggered by the stupidest thing, like some 20-year-old grabbing his girlfriend’s petooty. Not sure if Bruce’s problem was his buying into those unrealistic romantic vignettes or because he came to realize how much of his life he had wasted watching them. “Yes, Bruce, those are hours, days, and weeks that you’ll never get back. Ever.” Admittedly, I did experience a bit of schadenfreude telling him that, but know that I had to listen to his blow-by-blow account of the plot for “Accidentally In Love” for over a half hour. Talk about ruining my eggs Benedict and mimosa. He deserved it.
A hard “no” on this fella. Don’t be drawn in by the soft beard and stylish acid-washed jeans. You are better off stopping at the animal shelter and picking up a chihuahua if you’re feeling that lonely.
Alrighty, moving right along to the anecdotal portion of my helpful dating blog. I would add this declaimer as you consider my sage advice: I am absolutely the worst example of what to do in relationships, so for those of you who know me, it’s a do as I say and not as I do sort of situation. Got it? Here we go…
Guys With A Great Sense of Humor
This I can say with conviction: NEVER go out with someone who lacks a sense of humor. If a guy can’t laugh at himself, the ridiculous world we live in, and at me, it ain’t gonna work. Humor = sanity, intelligence, and fun times ahead. No sense of humor = likely sociopath. Admittedly I am not a psychiatrist, but I’ve watched thousands of hours of Law and Order. My fav boyfriend of all time was absolutely hilarious. I had 13 years of laughing my ass off with Jim, thank you very much. And an aside: guys with a great sense of humor are THE BEST in the sack. Don’t believe me? Then read about it in Men’s Health (the male version of Cosmopolitan).
Missing Teeth, Lives In A Yurt
I know, I know… stranger danger. The wrongness of this may have seemed obvious to an outsider, but I fell for this guy, if but briefly. What’s his name seemed to be on the same page with me politically; he was laughing in all the right spots, he liked tacos and Tom Petty, and he seemed intelligent and genuinely interested in ecological issues. And he wore clean, pressed shirts, though well-worn. BUT, as I would discover (beyond the obvious missing teeth), he was chronically unemployed, living in a yurt and tending a single cow. Oh, my god. No, he was not a cute hippy in his early 20’s. He was 65. Also no vehicle, minus a well-used mountain bike. The wake up call… he turned up “lit” at one of our encounters and assumed I wouldn’t notice he was talking twice as fast as an auctioneer. Should’ve seen that coming, right? My blind spot: his really nice caboose. I’m such a sucker.
“Lit” from the Urban Dictionary (much better than the Oxford English Dictionary).
Nice Legs, Sells Mushrooms
OK, weak spot #2: nice legs. I have a serious problem with this. Always have. I almost got sent home from music camp in high school because of Brad, the first French horn player in orchestra. His legs were like Michelangelo’s David in denim cutoffs, and our brief fling was like a scene from Dirty Dancing, except with a full orchestra and the famous flute/horn duet from Brahm’s Symphony #4. I have a whole list of guys in this category (many are horn players – also a fetish), and let me just say this: none of them worked out for the long term. Should have gone for the trombonists.
There’s this guy at the market with beautiful gams, who wears shorts every month of the year and who sells mushrooms. I like gorgeous gams, I like mushrooms. Seemed like a potential match made in heaven and I came really close to saying the wrong thing when Jake brought me a bag of free shitakes. Instead, I stepped back. First, I considered… is this guy married? Hard to tell. Then I thought: “How much can a person actually make as a seller of mushrooms, not the psychedelic ones?” Obviously, not much. There are like 75 bags at his booth @ $5 each. You do the math. If we’re going to pigeonhole this hunk, I’d say Jake falls into the potential “purse” category. I can’t have that. But hey, thanks for the mushrooms, Jake!
Jake says this is safe to eat, but that was after I spurned his advances. You can bet I’m not putting this in my mouth.
The Reverend
What the hell was I thinking?! For the love of god, I am an atheist. Truth be told, “Todd” is probably an atheist too, but he has that minister schtick down to a fine art. He’d show up in the garb, then casually excuse himself to go into the bathroom, returning in a soft, artsy T-shirt and linen jacket. Hell yeah, I fell for that, until we went out to dinner, and I realized he didn’t have enough money to pay for the date, which he had set up. Turns out the rev had lost his job at the church on account of having an affair with one of the congregants, and then he lost his shirt, so to speak, because his wife is an amazing attorney (yes, in family law). The rev also had a not-so-wee drinking problem. All of this was conveniently revealed on the first date, so I was able to quickly release my seatbelt and get one foot out the door just as he leaned in for the you-know-what. I feigned having indigestion and said I looked forward to seeing him again soon before blocking his phone number FOREVER.
It’s good to master the “you’re such a nice person” hug, and have a plan if the grip doesn’t loosen after 3-5 seconds.
Mr. Gravy Sleeves
This was not actually my date, but it was so funny and to the point that I felt the need to throw it into the mix. So… Amy-we’ll-call-her was on a second or third date with Mr. Gravy Sleeves, who got his name because of the hurried and reckless manner in which he consumed his food, which was gross white-trash shit with gravy on it. Whenever he was eating, he managed to stain the front of his shirt and would also have remnants of food smashed onto his sleeves where his arms made contact with the table. Mr. Gravy Sleeves did everything like he did anything… he was just a big fat slob, both in his manners and his romantic advances. As “Amy” sat across from him at the booth on the third date, she thought to herself, “This is THE last date. I hope I never see this idiot again.” The expression on her face left no room whatsoever for misinterpretation, yet Mr. Gravy Sleeves wasn’t having it. He got up, then came and sat right next to her on the other side of the booth. He then proceeded to lean in with his gravy breath and said, “Would you feel better if I kissed you?” With a final look of complete disgust and a hard shove, the date was ended. Not sure who picked up the tab on that one.
That’s really all I have to say on this boring subject. I would leave you with one last thought: it’s REALLY slim pickings after age 60. Just saying.
I always think you should to get to know a person before sharing food, or to at least get a first name.
As a trombonist, married 42 years, yeah you should have gone with a trombone player
Thou shalt not date after 60. It's ...discomfiting. Just not worth it.