I separated from my husband (BM = Bad Move) when I was 38 and after a suitable period of time had passed I was keen to get back in the sack, saddle. I wanted to get out and feel like I was alive. Vital, attractive and well, y’know, a sexy woman. I would say a sexy woman again, but I hadn’t really been a sexy woman when I married at 23, I was merely a girl who thought she knew.
So I did what every modern chick with technology nouce does, I joined an online dating site called FindSomeone. A friend and I had a fun time crafting my profile whilst downing Mojito’s one lazy summer evening, and before long I’d met a nice English bloke (not my Englishman, another one, – I rather like the male of the English species!). We had a qualifying round of dates, and all went well. He was literate, intelligent and as far as I could tell, he only had five fingers on each hand and wasn’t related to carny folk. We flirted online, passing messages to and fro like school kids passing chewing gum in the back of the classroom.
Of course this was an entirely new experience for me. I hadn’t really dated very much before I married. Sure there’d been the first boyfriend, who I went out with for three years, and then a series of intoxicated ‘thingies’ whilst backpacking. I’d married my flatmate after my OE and lived with him for 17 or so years, so to say I felt under-experienced was an understatement.
What was expected of me?
I could do talking over dinner. I know how to drink, and hold a knife and fork. But it was the important stuff that worried me. What do sexy 38 year olds (with three kids and stretch marks) wear on a date? How exactly do you passionately kiss someone new? Then there was all that other stuff that I couldn’t think about in full sentences even in the privacy of my own head.
How do you.
Strip
And, um
Do It………
?
I’d figured out there needed to be low lighting. (A woman’s best friend). And considerable alcoholic lubricant. Sexy lingerie I had. Nice makeup and perfume, I had. Confidence I had not.
With ever increasing panic I realised that the day would come when I would need to get back into the swim. But could I remember the stroke? Or would I have to freestyle? After all, I was 38 not 28.
The date came rather out of the blue, which was for the best. Late one Friday afternoon saw me ringing the beautician for an ‘emergency Brazilian wax’. Just in case. I rang a close friend and told her the name of the bloke, and where he lived so if I didn’t return the next morning to civilisation, she could direct the police to the freezer where my dismembered body would be lying.
I drank a classy glass of Champagne. Ok. I lie. I drank half the bottle. OK it was the whole bottle..or near about. I ordered the taxi and made my way to dinner. Dinner was fun, and before long another friend had texted to invite us down to a bar in Mission Bay to meet up with some other friends.
Exhilarated by how it was going I commandeered my unsuspecting victim date into a taxi and we headed down to the Reef Bar. We met some friends of mine and were all sitting around having a quiet drink and a laugh when two young women dressed very sexily joined us. My eyes were wide open with champagne, and in the swirling dirvish of thought, I remember congratulating myself about how I was back. Look at me – having a night out feeling vital and attractive with a sexy new love interest! I couldn’t help feeling smug that some friends of BM’s were there. Hah! See, I’m not so frumpy mumsy after all, am I!
The band started up and my date (annoyingly) didn’t want to dance, so we continued to chat about silly drunken things. The conversation was light. The fire was warm. The drinks kept coming. Sexy Girl came over and was entranced by my date’s job.
‘Ohhhh are you a Secret Agent?’ I could see she thought she was in with a grin, and I silently barred my teeth. ‘Back off. That was my little joke.’ She was ruining my come back. Would the wax be redundant?
Sexy Girl number two joined us, evening out the numbers and I relaxed a little. Listening to everyone laugh and tell silly jokes I tried to estimate their age..
(24/25yrs maybe?)
Babies really, shouldn’t be allowed out with grown-ups. Women (and men) of the world, like us.
Then she said something that bought me down to earth.
‘You should try Cowboys in the Viaduct’, she said.
‘Oh? Why? I’m not really into cowboy music’
‘Well it’s not really country music, it’s like this but you know, a bit of a laugh. You’d love it. I’ve seen lots of attractive older women there.’
I let out a very attractive older woman choking noise….
And in that moment, I felt every wrinkle on my face, every laughter line, and every stretch mark of my 38 years existence.
That’s when, I felt old.
NB/ This post was written as part of Josie’s Writing Workshop over at Sleep is For the Weak. I chose the prompt; ‘What’s made you feel your age, lately’
Image: WALKING AID
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