I am 65 and single, and I know I should be looking for Mr. Right.
Somewhere out there is the perfect man for me. He’s smart and funny and honest and kind. (And, with any luck, a really good kisser.)
Even though a man like that is hard to find, especially for a woman in her 60s, all the books and fairy tales tell me that he exists.
I just need to locate him. I’ve posted my profile on dating sites. I’ve asked my pals to introduce me to their age-appropriate single friends. I once even consulted a local matchmaker. I’ve definitely put myself out there. I’m playing the match game. And? I haven’t found him yet.
Not to worry. Kiss enough frogs, I’m told, and I’ll find my prince.
And so? I’ve been kissing frogs. Plenty of them. (Metaphorically, of course, which is to say that I’m not going to lock lips with someone the first time we meet for coffee. A courtship needs to last longer than a cappuccino.)
I’ve had great getting-to-know-you phone conversations and numerous coffee dates with some very nice men. And, despite all the horror stories you hear about online dating, everybody I’ve met has been respectful and well-behaved.
Best of all? Nobody has ever sent me a photo of his tallywacker, for which I remain very grateful.
Still, Mr. Right remains elusive. It could be that I’m not putting enough time and effort into this quest. I’m too busy living the perfectly pleasant frog-free life I already have. Writing essays and reading books. Walking and swimming. Spending lots of (virtual) time with family and friends.
I particularly enjoy being a grandma. There isn’t a man on the planet whose company I’d prefer to that of Benjamin Maxwell Smith, aged 3, or his baby brother. Not only is it hard to find the time to find my prince, but I’m also not entirely sure I should.
Life is pretty good without him.
And the truth is that so far, I’ve had a lot more fun snickering with my sister over some of the more ludicrous online dating profiles, photos and come-ons I have encountered than I have dating any of the dudes I did take seriously enough to meet.
All of whom were very nice guys who will make some woman very happy. Just not me.
I know. You can’t catch a fish if you don’t go fishing. Of course, my more cynical friends have told me not to bother.
“The guys you find online are all liars and cheats and creeps,” they insist. “If you want companionship, get a dog.”
But what if the man of my dreams is really out there? I can picture him now. Clever. Creative. Bookish. My soulmate! He’s posted an online profile and is waiting for me, his perfect companion, to read it so that we can meet, fall madly in love and live happily ever after.
He’s rejecting other women right and left because it’s me he really wants — a 65-year-old retired librarian who used to blog for the New York Times, swims every day, can make him think and make him laugh and who’ll love him truly and well but would actually rather live apart than live together. (And who just happens to be a really good kisser.)
All I have to do is find him. But? I never quite manage to get around to it. I could be combing through Match.com profiles to connect with potential suitors. Instead, I’m visiting my grandson. I could be going (masked) to meet-up events for local singles. Instead, I’m working on a new essay. I could be spending an hour fine-tuning my online profile. Instead I spend that hour drinking coffee and schmoozing (at a safe distance, of course) with my pal Amy.
And so? Happily Ever After never happens. My true love and I are not growing old together. We are growing old apart. Ah, well. What I don’t know won’t hurt me.
On the other hand, if you’re the kind of guy who longs for a woman who is too damn busy enjoying her life to search for you … get in touch.