Last Saturday, I was having dinner with three other Russian born, 40 something, divorces, and as they say Russian – each one of us was more attractive than the other. We are all MBAs, successful in our careers, wordily and god dam fun. Over good food and wine, the conversation flowed on how hard it is to date and find a man. while I am writing a blog to vent off steam, Katya was mysterious, Ksenya is dating up a storm, and Kira has decided to just throw in the towel. As she put it: “men are more trouble than they are worth”.
When I became newly single, the song “it’s raining men” played loudly in my head as I imagined being over run by available and attractive men of every shape and size, with full heads of hair, a zest for life, and a hankering to settle down with marvelous me. There are just as many single men as single women my age, they are out there, and everywhere: at work, at bars, online, speed dating, joining singles groups, and going to “meet up” events. So why was it so much easier when I was younger? 25 years ago to be exact, or as my mother is apt to say: “when you were a quarter century younger”.
Maybe because in college, where many of us coupled seriously for the first time, we spent most of our waking hours with other twenty somethings. We were swimming in a veritable pool of possible mates. From shared classes, cramped dorm rooms, to nearly nightly clubs, bars and parties. Now a days, I work in a field dominated by women, most eligible men are either married, way too young, and lots of them are gay. In short, the mating pool I swim in is a kiddie pool.
We also had lots more time on our hands. I don’t remember how many times I said: “hey, what should we do today?” We hung out at each other’s places, explored new clubs, took vacations. Now a days, my time is not my own, between work and kids, if I go out twice a week I feel so decadent, that I won’t readily admit it.
Not only were we continuously hob-nobbing with lots of other young eligible people, but we were way more attractive. All of us! No wrinkles or bags around our eyes, even after all-nighters and parties. The women were slimmer (even if we didn’t see ourselves that way), and the men were fitter and had more hair. Of course, our hormones raged, and in my university it was a mating dance of hundreds of bronzed, lithe young men and women. I hosted my share of bacchanalia, down to the obligatory college toga party.
At the time, my standards were basic, and I did not verbalize them (hence my marriage…. aaaahhhhh). I wanted an attractive, intelligent, and manly guy. Period! Now, I have a laundry list, my dream man must be established, witty, worldly, financially independent (especially of me), somewhat fit, able to discuss world events, kind to children and animals, sexually compatible with me, serious, fun etc. etc. etc.
Oh, the men are not much better. In their youth, the guys also didn’t have standards. It mostly amounted to being thankful for any woman who would agree to sleep with them. Now, they want their women younger and younger, well put together, but not high maintenance. They also must have lot of time to explore the world, and help them compensate for what ever it is their mid-life crisis is driving them towards or away. Also, they expect us to put up with their ailments, back pains, conditions, and of course a hobby they picked up along the way, such as smoking meat, becoming one with the couch during March Maddness, or playing Dungeons and Dragons twice a week. One of my ex-boyfriends, Kevin, had a small pharmacy in house full of pills for backpain, muscle relaxants, acid reflux, migraines, antihistamines, cholesterol, sleeplessness, and of course Viagra.
The few standards we did have back then, were quickly eroded by alcohol, recreational drugs and lack of sleep. I remember going out at least Thursday through Saturday nights, and then once or twice on other weeknights. All the while holding a full-time job, and carrying a demanding college course load. I was a champion beer pitcher chugger. Those days are so far behind me, I can not drink more than a couple of glasses of wine with dinner, and my total alcohol consumption for a month does not go above four glasses.
Raging hormones further fueled the mating frenzy, particularly in the men. Unfortunately, while women’s sexual desire only seems to go stronger with age, men’s wanes. It seems with the 40+ male set, like Kevin, the drug of choice is Viagra. I had tall hopes for Kiril, a 6’4 computer scientist of Irish descent. I met him on OK Cupid, under preferred sexual frequency he wrote: “once every two weeks”. I thought it must be a typo; who would have such low sex drive, much less proudly declare it over the Internet. I found out the hard (no wait – the “soft”) way, that it wasn’t a typo. He still writes to me, even after I told him I just want to be friends.
Now of course we all have buggage and responsibilities. I mean, what man would not want a woman with extra weight, debts, three children, and a crazy ex. I have kids, a job, bills to pay, and a relationship history that makes me scrutinize any potential man just so much closer. This is not the carefree time of college, when our biggest worry was how to pay for college, not how to pay for our kids college, our retirement, and everything else.
Then, there are the kids. All three of them would have to like him, and he would have to like all three of them. All together, we have to get eight relationships right (I did the math, trust me on this one.) And if he has kids, then I have to like them and they me. That’s ten, twelve or even more relationships that we would have to get right Simultaneously.
Lastly, the longer I go on my own, the more I wonder how much am I willing to change to accommodate someone else. How much is he? That is the biggest obstacle. Pill popping Kevin was scared he would have to move out of his house to mine. Meanwhile, I shudder at the thought of having to keep house, or not walking around in a stained t-shirt when I clean the house, putting my hair up like a sumo wrestler, or being very un-ladylike when horsing around with my kids.
I am a declining commodity, who is asking for a higher and higher price. As my friend Kayla put it: “I want the perfect man for me to just appear on my door step.” To all my single friends – you are not alone.
Dating LIfe Begins at 40 