In my twenties, I went on a few dates with a man I suspected was gay, so I never let things develop. Years later, in his mid-thirties, he broke off an engagement and came out of the closet. Around that same time, while discussing my frustrating dating life, he said quite pointedly, “Did you ever think if none of these dates work out that the problem is you?”
It struck me as ironic for him, of all people, to ask that question.
I thought of that conversation again while reading this:
So naturally, you’ll be distracted, searching for clues in what I say, or don’t say… in my mannerisms and in my face. You’ll wonder how this happened to me… how I ended up single and without the children I always dreamed I’d have. If you’re younger than I am, you’ll either confirm to yourself that it could never possibly happen to you, or, now that you’ve met me, you’ll wonder if it possibly could.
If you’re married and a mom, you’ll pat yourself on the back for knowing better that I did. Knowing ‘what’ exactly, neither of us is quite sure, but you’ll let out a sigh of relief that you’re safe and sound, despite any hidden challenges you are facing behind closed doors. You knew better, and that’s enough for you.
And the gentlemen… well if we’re on a date, you’ll find a way to let me know that you’re OK with my age, notwithstanding your own. You’ll credit yourself for dating a woman who may no longer be able to have biological children — or be relieved for that very fact. Either way, you’ll let me know. You’ll tell me how you usually date younger women but find women ‘my age’ (often your age) refreshing. Or, you’ll tell me that your friends ‘warned’ you about my age, but you told them it didn’t matter. “You don’t look it!” you’ll say as if it were consolation.