"My life is very full. I have two children to raise, a mortgage to pay, a house to run, groceries to buy, dinners to cook, laundry to do, toilets to scrub and a very demanding, very stressful career in sales. Add to that a weekly column to write, deadlines to meet, a body that is rapidly falling apart, an ulcer, an anxiety disorder, a handful of hair in the shower every morning and it's easy to understand why it is that in my very limited personal time I do not want to have to make decisions, am I right?" I asked my personal trainer, Aaron in the middle of bench presses.
"Yes, you're right, come on three more," he answers.
"I mean, is it too much to ask that when you show up at my door to pick me up for a date that you have a freakin' plan?" I am exasperated as I re-rack the bar.
"No, not at all," he says helping me up and handing me two dumbbells for bicep curls. He's always pushing me—never any rest. I am starting to dislike him.
"I understand the sentiment behind allowing me to decide what I'd like to do, but how am I supposed to know how much someone wants to spend on a date? I mean, hello, I am a grown-ass woman but for all of my independence, sometimes it is just so nice to go along for the ride. And hey, I'm fairly low maintenance, if you don't have a lot of money then go buy a couple of chicken breasts and some asparagus and rent a freakin' movie, all I ask is that you have a freakin' plan!" I am almost yelling as Aaron takes the weights out of my hands and leads me to another torturous contraption. I do dislike him.
"What's this all about?" he finally asks.
"I don't know, I guess I just feel like a jerk. For the past three months I've been dating someone much younger than me and although he is incredibly sweet, ridiculously sexy and seems to have good intentions, he doesn't have a clue as to what it takes to date a woman. I can't help but feel like what he's saying with his lack of initiative is, 'Hey, I'm a hot, young stud and you get the pleasure of sleeping with me so you make the plans. And oh by the way, be ready to shoulder some of the financial responsibility of our dates as well.' I mean I understand that he's young and just starting out, but if you ask a woman on a date, shouldn't some sort of savings plan be involved?"
"What?" asks Aaron in utter disbelief. "You're telling me that you actually have to pay for part of your date and he still expects you to put out? What in the hell is wrong with these kids today?"
"I don't even think it's the putting out part that he cares about. He was dating a girl before me, and she was, are you ready for this? She was 19 years old! And he joked that her idea of a good time was to go to the mall and download ring tones, and yet, I feel very similar when it comes to spending time with him."
"Have you told him how you feel?" asks Aaron, motioning for me to lie back down and do another set of presses. At this point, I'm plotting his death.
"Yes, every time he text messages me to ask me out—"
"—Did you say that he text messages you to ask you out?"
"Yeah, I know, I think that's the way the younger generation communicates these days. I'm getting pretty good at cracking the code," I answer. "Anyway, every time he TM's me I call him and say, 'Sure, what do you have in mind?' and his answer is always the same, 'I don't have a plan, what do you want to do?' And suddenly I want to choke him. So I feel pressured to come up with a plan that's in line with his budget, which usually means I buy lunch, he buys the movie tickets and if I want popcorn, I'm on my own ...
"On the rare occasions that he does try to plan a date, his text will read something like, 'do u like 2 hike? How bout rdrck n a shwr?' Um, excuse me but a high noon hike in Red Rock Canyon and my old ass would die of heat stroke. Or he'll suggest we 'lay out @ pool @ my apt cmplx' or my personal favorite, 'just cdle at ur plc'. All of which are in line with his budget, but none of which make me feel special. I don't know what to do." My arms are shaking from so many reps and I feel as though I may pass out. I secretly think Aaron is trying to kill me.
"Well, you are the experienced older woman, maybe it's up to you to be his teacher," he says, counting out my crunches like the evil dictator that he is. I truly hate him.
"Teachers ... are ... over ... worked and ... grossly underpaid, I don't want to be a teacher," I say, squeezing out my last 50, my abs threatening to explode. I must fire Aaron.
"Then I guess it's time for you to dump him." He says it matter of factly. Yeah, I think, and while I'm at it I'm dumping you too.
As I laid there in a sweaty, middle-aged heap, I thought about what he'd said. Maybe I was being too harsh. After all, I know that there are tons of women that would kill for the opportunity to spend time with, let alone sleep with the likes of Darin, but wasn't I a pretty darn good catch in my own right? I stepped on the scale, hmmm, six pounds, I'd lost six pounds? I love Aaron!
Now, I thought, smiling at my slender, toned physique, now it's time to shed some more unwanted weight. Would it be wrong to break up with him in a text message?
Sonja is a writer who covers the ins and outs of relationships. Or is it the ups and downs?