My theory about dating younger men is pretty simple: Don't do it. Why?
It's obvious: Younger men are ... younger. They are not familiar with certain aspects of aging like, say, stretch marks. A younger man doesn't understand that stretch marks symbolize the badge of motherhood, or the triumph of significant weight loss; no, instead they view them as icky and unsightly.
They are also clueless about things like loss of facial elasticity, the need to cover up grays every four to six weeks or the constant need to Kaegle so as not to wet oneself when sneezing. Let's face it, getting old ain't for sissies, so my personal choice has been to never embarrass myself any more than necessary by dating some stud who lacks knowledge of the cruelties of Mother Time.
It has been my contention since I started showing the symptoms of getting on in years that older gentlemen with thinning hair, droopy chins and protruding bellies are not always a bad thing. I mean, let's face it: At least they understand what we as aging women are going through. They can sympathize with our changing bodies and they are mature enough to know that women in their late-30s onward are perfected by their imperfections.
Of course, the majority of these older, more mature gentlemen are only interested in dating women in their 20s, so it all falls apart there, right?
This brings on a whole new dilemma, if older men want younger women and men my age are either already married or currently going through a nasty divorce and/or custody battle, there really is no other choice than to give in and try the younger-man thing. At least that is the advice I got from my girlfriend, Anna, when I asked for her opinion. Anna is 43, divorced and has two children. She is funny, fit and very successful in her career as an interior designer. For Anna, there is simply no other way to go.
"Sonja, you have to let go of your insecurities and trust me on this one. Why would you want to date soft, balding older men who are looking over your shoulder hoping to trade you in on a younger model the first chance he gets, when you can have a hot, sexy, toned, supple younger man who appreciates your experience and is too young to be cynical, bitter and angry at the entire female population?"
Maybe it was her conviction that changed my mind and caused me to pick up the phone and call Darin, the twentysomething financial consultant I'd met a few weeks ago at the mall while shopping with my son. Or maybe curiosity was killing my cat. Or maybe I was just horny. Whatever the case, I did in fact call him and I did in fact invite him to meet me at Gordon Biersch for lunch and I did in fact take one look at him and want to jump his sexy young bones!
When I walked into the restaurant my usual 10 minutes late, he was waiting for me. Oh. My. God. He was not only even more gorgeous than I remembered, but he looked much younger as well. I felt guilty for the thoughts that had coursed through my mind earlier in the day and was suddenly wracked with insecurities as I followed him to our table. I couldn't take my eyes off of his high, round bottom and knew instantly that I could never allow him to see me naked.
What in the name of all that is holy and good was I thinking? I couldn't possibly have an affair with someone so ... perfect! I mean, let's face it: I feel bad enough about myself as it is; the last thing I needed was some hot, muscular stud muffin with a smaller waist and better hair than me pointing out all of my flaws. No thank you!
I instantly decided that after this lunch I would never see him again. Ever.
Two hours later I was still hanging on his every word. As it turned out, he was not only a law-school grad, but also has his MBA. Great, gorgeous and smart, he was making it very difficult for me not to reach across the lunch table, rip open his well-pressed shirt and lick his perfectly sculpted abs.
No. Bad Sonja! Stay focused, finish lunch and then never see him again.
This kid had heartbreak written all over him. Besides, the lunch was so easy and casual that it was obvious that he was just being polite because he was new to town and wanted to make friends. Yes, I decided that he just wanted to be my friend. What else could a hunk-a-hunk-a-burnin'-love like him want from an older model like me?
When he walked me to my car, he placed his hand on the small of my back. I went weak in the knees and my thighs spontaneously combusted. I was sure that if I didn't get away from him quickly I was going to fall, physically as well as metaphorically. I tried to hold myself together and stay aloof.
I had to remind myself that he would probably get only a third of my jokes and would more than likely expect me to start working out to tighten and tone my old frame. No thanks.
I gave him a small hug to thank him for lunch and in my mind to say a final good-bye, but as I tried to pull away, the darndest thing happened: He didn't let go. My heart was beating so fast I was sure he could feel it.
Then, he whispered in my ear, "When can I see you again?"
Determined to hold strong to my resolve not to get involved with him, I pulled gently away from him, shaking my head and uttered the one word I knew would make clear my intentions: "Tomorrow?"
Sonja is a writer who covers the ins and outs of relationships. Or is it the ups and downs?