You want to know why we freak out to stay young looking?

My first husband emailed today. (I like his emails, they are always sweet and supportive). He asked me if I had had any "work done"--meaning cosmetically because I look a little different than I did 25 years ago. (Really?) He said I looked young. Well you bet your sweet bippy I've had work done, just as much as I can afford without causing myself to look like I've been caught in a wind tunnel.



I was at a 12-step meeting yesterday and mentioned this very thing. A woman at a Vegas meeting cried last week about aging. People weren't relating to her the way they did when she was younger. I hugged her after the meeting. We are sisters. I would give anything, I told the group, to 'accept' the swarm of wrinkles bubbling under and around my checks and eyes. I would love to find the emerging turkey neck a sign of maturity like all the old male newscasters have done. I would give anything to consider my Andy Rooney eyebrows as added character, stop weeding them daily, and just grow old gracefully. Yes I would, but the men in my life won't let me. They say, "I love you just the way you are" and then fuck the babysitter.



You know why I can't revere this "new and wiser" aging me? You wonder why we cry in our self-help groups and lament the loss of our 20s 30s and even 40s--because of you guys, that's why. It's because we find you beating off to pictures of 12 and 14 year olds in front of your computer. It's because you admire Donald Trump for marrying a women 24 years his Junior tomorrow.



I tried the online meeting your soul mate kind of thing--Sober Singles. I won't go into the long list of disabled, ptsd, misfits who contacted me (however sweet they were, I don't want to be care-taking my soul-mate right out of the gate, thank you) but there was one who peaked my interest. We had a few good talks. Ted is 49, I'm 56. He liked my pic, I liked his. Our talks were informal, we have a lot in common, and we could banter in a fun way with each other. We wanted to meet. Then, he asked the fatal question, "How old are you?" Like the air going out of a balloon, I could hear the enthusiasm go out of his interest in me.



Don't wonder why. We want men in our lives and they want tight little bodies with long hair, little experience, and who might not notice the hash brown stains in their drawers (or make them think it doesn't matter). They want the 'short in the tooth' woman, we want them, so what do we do? We file our teeth, if we don't want to throw in the towel with those stained drawers when we do the laundry!

Thanks to Tribune Media Services for loan of Rooney pic.