epsiode 6

Where have all the grown-ups gone?

‘Where are all the grown up men?’ My friend and I lamented as we pondered our latest run of meeting guys. I had started going out more, and I’d even been chatted up once or twice. Not necessarily by the right kind of men but it was a start.
Having just turned thirty-four, if I was going to meet someone, I wanted to meet a man, not a boy. However, it wasn’t turning out that way. For example, a night out in a fairly new bar had us surrounded by twenty-four year old city boys. It was rather like being in a playground. I wanted to pat their heads and twang their braces but they had other ideas as instead we fought off one persistent youngster after another.
‘I like older women,’ one said when I told him my age and then he sulked and pouted when it was clear I wasn’t going to change my mind.
My friend fared little better as one arrogantly told her that his youth would give her the best night of her life.
Were they all working for help the aged or was I being unfair on us? After all on a good day (i.e. very dark) I reckon I could pass as younger than I am. I might think I was too old for them, but was I really? After all they were way above the age of consent, had jobs and might know what they wanted from life. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that either they liked the idea that we might have experience, or they just thought we’d be really, incredibly grateful.

I bet if my ex, was approached by a twenty-four year old woman (and who knows he is probably surrounded by even younger ones), then he would see it as a huge compliment. But all I felt was old.
I’ve never been the kind of woman that worried about my age. I vainly cover up my grey hairs and I slap on anti-aging cream. I’ve even considered Botox but can’t stand needles. But these men, who were perfectly sweet, if not a bit pouty just didn’t do it for me. Toyboys are all the rage nowadays, the perfect fashion accessory if nothing else. If my ex could have a trophy woman then why couldn’t I go for a younger man?
Of course it wasn’t a competition. I didn’t want to give my phone number/go home with someone unless I really wanted to, and perhaps if I’d really fancied any of these guys then maybe I would have done just that, and sod the age. Or would I? Somehow the last thing I felt like doing was babysitting.
Or am I just over-analysing everything? They were probably not thinking past that night, and a quick bonk. And I don’t know what I was thinking. Has being in a serious relationship made me take relationships or dating, (or even the prospect of them) too seriously? If so, then I am completely bloody doomed.
In these new fangled days of dating, I didn’t want to behave as if every man I met had to mean something; but would I ever be able to? I guess a few months down the line I might as it’s still early days for me. I still talk to my ex and he still has my shoes. Is that the problem? The apartment he lives in is full of my stuff and I am still relying on the kindness of friends to put a roof over my head.
But I don’t want to become neurotic, Bridget Jones I am not. I want to have fun, and largely I do. So, if I think too much about every man I come across then I might as well join a holy order, (not that they’d have me).

However a pattern emerged. For a while, everywhere we went we ended up talking to youngish men, (under 30). It got to the point where I wondered if the young men had done away with all the older ones. One night, my friend found herself on the dance floor with such a creature. He told her his age, and then he asked hers. She shaved off eight years and snogged him.
‘Why?’ I asked. ‘Did you like him?’
‘I just thought that I’m never going to meet a guy my age, so it might be easier to become their age.’ You know, I hadn’t thought of that.
I did try to become the newly relaxed me that I mentioned above. So once again, in a bar I was approached by a man/boy who looked quite young.
‘How old are you?’ The inevitable question. It turned out that he was twenty-four (what is it with that age). Anyway I did talk to him, and I gave him a chance and to be fair there was nothing wrong with him. He was intelligent, cute and a bit funny. However, before long he jumped the gun.
‘Are you coming back to my place then?’ I had no intention of doing so, but to stall, I politely asked him if he lived alone. He went a bit quiet, before finally replying.
‘No, but my Dad won’t mind.’

Talking to friends, I was told that the older boys are generally taken. Or with twenty-four year old girls. So, that was that apparently. Young boys or celibacy filled my future.
Even if I wanted to have a bit of fun, I still couldn’t see myself as much as playing kiss chase with the young boys. To me ten years is a long time and when I thought back to being twenty-four, my memory was so hazy I was aware that I had long since kissed those boys goodbye.
And of course I have been told that a newly single thirty-four year old can’t afford to be too choosy, (by bloody cheeky and of course, smug non-singles) but you know what, I’ll take my chance. And if that means being alone for ever, then so be it. But if there are any single grown up men out there, then show your faces now.

Next Week: PWM (Perfect Wife Material)