I begin to date…again (June 2006)
And so it came to pass…that one year and three months after my adventure in the Providence airport, I happened to be walking through Penn Station.
I was noticing the middle-aged men and wondering which ones were 60 (I was then a mere 59).
How could you tell a man’s age? I looked at the color, the amount, and the location of their hair; I looked at their stride; I looked at their stomachs; I looked at the skin on their faces; I looked at the fit of their suits. Not that I thought about them in such an itemized way, but the overall impression was composed of these bits and pieces.
And I looked at the single most important male body part for women in my situation: the second finger on the left hand.
* * *
I wasn’t looking for a particular type, fuzzy artsy or tidy corporate or sloppy academic; I was just looking at age. I wanted a slightly older man, not too big (under six feet) and not too small (over 5′8″), someone, as Goldilocks would have said, just right for me.
* * *
I saw lots of them.
They looked great.
* * *
One day, when I arrived at work, I had the following conversation with my friend Mary:
ME: As I walk through Penn Station, I find that I’m trying to figure out what a sixty-year-old man looks like.
MARY: You’re cruising.
ME: I am??
MARY: You are.
ME: Oh.
* * *
So I went to my friend Judy’s office. Judy had lived in New York almost her entire life, as had her husband, and she was just a year older than I. Surely one of them must know some sixty-year-old men!
ME: Judy! I think I’m ready to date! Do you know any sixty-year-old men you could introduce me to?
JUDY: If I knew any, I couldn’t help you, because there are people ahead of you on my list.
ME: Oh. (pause, while I absorb this very disheartening news) But do you know any at all?
JUDY: Match dot com.
ME: What?
JUDY: Match dot com.
ME: What’s that?
JUDY: The internet. Go on the internet. It’s the best way.
ME: Really? I’d rather meet people the old-fashioned way. You don’t know a single one you could send in my direction?
JUDY: No. I don’t. Match dot com is the best way.
ME: How do I find it?
JUDY: It’s on the web. It’s easy to find: just look for Match dot com.
ME: Do you know anyone who has used it?
JUDY: Lots of people.
ME: And it works for them?
JUDY: Well, they get dates.
ME: Have they met people to fall in love with?
JUDY: Sometimes.
ME: You mean, they’re still looking?
JUDY: Yes.
ME: Oh dear.
JUDY: Try it. It’s the only way.
ME: I think that’s what my ex-husband must have used. He met his new partner on the internet.
JUDY: It’s what everyone does.
* * *
So when I went home I looked it up.
At first, everyone looked ineligible.
Then they all looked eligible.
Then I thought, how can I put my picture up? Suppose people I know see me there? And anyway, I don’t have a picture to use.
So I joined up for two months and filled out the little form and posted a profile without a photo. The self-description was pretty straightforward, focussing on my interest in film, music, and walking in the city. I said that I was happy (hah! well, sort of; expecting to be very happy, once I meet the right man!), funny, and lively, and that my children were in college. I made it clear that I ‘had a life’ and didn’t need a man to provide me with one.
In short, I sounded like every other single fifty-nine-year-old woman in Manhattan.
* * *
I waited for the responses to roll in.
* * *
I waited about three weeks, and nothing happened. So I began writing men, telling them that (because they wanted a woman who was attractive, affectionate, smart, and loved city living) I was exactly what they were looking for!
* * *
Yeah; me and a few hundred-thousand others.
* * *
I bit the bullet and posted a picture, a head shot I was somehow able to separate from the rest of the people in the picture. It was a year old, and taken outdoors in the rain at a conference, but by some miracle (sort of a miracle: Sophie had done my hair, and that sure helped) I looked goodish.
Then one evening in the third week of June, my computer began making a funny noise I hadn’t heard before.
It was an instant message coming my way.
* * *
More in the next installment.
