It’s Valentine’s Day. So what!

I’ve aged out of the dating pool

This is the Snarky Sunday edition of Snarky Senior — the newsletter from Erica Manfred, which you can read about here. If you like it and don’t want to miss an issue, you can get it in your inbox by subscribing.

I had dinner with my pandemic buddy Julie this week. She gave me an adorable retro valentine’s card (see above) with the touching message:  To Erica, a good friend in our “golden” years, accompanied by a handmade heart-shaped potholder which is much too lovely to actually use.   I almost shed a tear; it had been so long since I’d gotten a real valentine card. 

This new friendship was rare and treasured.  Julie and I were the only ones we knew willing to get together during the past year.  We had a routine.  Dinner once a week, outdoors in a park then outdoors in a restaurant when they opened.   We both lived alone. Neither of us had a significant other in our “pod” but we had each other, at least sometimes.

  As far as romance, I’d aged out of the dating pool quite a while ago.     And what’s more, I didn’t care.

When my husband left me at age 59 for a younger woman, one of my biggest fears was having to spend the rest of my life alone.  It had been hard enough to find dates in New York City when I was in my thirties, what was I going to do now that I was in my sixties and lived in the boonies of Woodstock, New York.  I didn’t realize that the Internet had changed the dating scene for us older folks.

  When I woke up one day, about nine months post getting dumped and realized I was horny as hell, my friend and Internet dating guru, Nancy, told me to try Match.com, the biggest dating site on the internet. I literally hadn’t had any sexual desire for 18 years since I started living with my husband.  I had married him out of desperation, not attraction, and spent all my sexual energy avoiding sex with him. Except for a brief crush on our carpenter, I had never looked at a man sexually.  Now I was long past menopause and supposedly long past my sexual prime   My body didn’t know this, however.   It started twitching every time an attractive man came into the room.  All a sudden I was evaluating every man I saw as a sexual partner.  I was on fire, all the time.  Pent-up demand I guess.

When it came to sex, I found the tables had turned since my youth.  Once upon a time I thought all men wanted was sex.  Now that’s what I wanted—desperately.  Young women still complain about being hit on, but I was praying to be hit on when I went on a date, especially if the man was attractive, but ironically, I found older men were the ones who wanted to get to know me first. Or maybe they had performance anxiety and were afraid they couldn't get it up.    I didn’t have a hard time finding dates, but I did have trouble finding men who wanted sex as much as I did.

I became obsessed with internet dating.  And I fell madly in love—twice. 

I knew what I wanted—mad passionate love.  I needed to prove I was still alive after years of a loveless marriage.   I was searching for what I called my “shaman lover” because I was living in woo-woo land and was in thrall to various new age gurus.  I was convinced only love could save me. 

What was I thinking? 

I had dates with many duds, and even had sex with guys who were not only not shamans, but schlemiels.   Finally, I met HIM through, what else, Match.com. Bob was fifty-five, five years younger than me, a short, handsome, boyish-looking tennis pro—a funny, dynamic guy who totally charmed me.  To my surprise he found me irresistible as well.  Our relationship was explosive for the next three months, including some of the best sex I’d ever had.  I even had multiple orgasms for the first time in my life!!

  I never had this kind of love as an adolescent, and it’s a very adolescent kind of love.    Unfortunately, the essential characteristic of crazy passion is that it is temporary, it’s a fantasy that can’t go on.   Bob, recently divorced, wanted to see others.  I couldn't deal with that and broke up with him.  Puff, he was gone.   The pain was worse than the pain of divorce.  I went through hell when Bob and I broke up, but I don't regret a minute of that relationship.  All-consuming passion isn't just the province of the young, and neither is the foolishness that goes with it.

Unfortunately, I’m terrible at relationships with men.  I’ve always been envious of those women who have what I call the “it” factor—you know who they are.  The women whom men flock around. Although men lust after beautiful women, after much observation of the “it” phenomenon I’ve concluded that looks have very little to do with it. 

My friend Wendy’s mom was one of those women.   I saw it in action when we took her to a popular watering hole in Woodstock.  Wendy and I nursed our drinks while Edna—in her 80s—charmed a bunch of older men who surrounded her.    I thought Edna looked ridiculous at her age in too much makeup and too tight clothes, but maybe that was a female judgement.  Men obviously found her attractive. Edna loved the attention, but she had no interest in dating any of these men, much less in having sex with them.  I’d witnessed this phenomenon before with another friend, Karen, whom men found irresistible.  Despite being dumpy with bad skin and frizzy hair, she also instantly became the center of attention by the men at any gathering. 

 What is the “it” factor?  I figured out it’s a combination of total confidence in one’s attractiveness, combined with a non-threatening friendliness that encourages men to flirt.  I’m neither confident, nor friendly.   Insecure and suspicious more like it.

After Bob, I met someone else and fell in love again before I gave up dating.   Jamie would have been perfect for me.  A handsome, sweet, funny retired teacher with a good heart and similar interests to mine, he was sexy and adorable.  But he too was recently divorced and wasn’t ready to settle down again.  He too was dating someone else.   I turned into a nutcase--clingy, desperate and demanding.  I was unbearable.  Unsurprisingly, he left me and wound up marrying the other woman he was dating.  I couldn’t blame him.   I would never be Edna or Karen.   Relationships with men brought out the worst in me.   I was dating with a huge handicap—zero confidence in my desirability as a woman.

After Jamie I made a desultory attempt at more internet dating, but it was too cruel for my delicate ego.  I’m not thin, which seems to be a bottom-line requirement for dating, young or old.  As a lifelong fat girl, I was sick of being judged by my size.  And late life internet dating is particularly cruel because judging potential partners by their looks never ends.  What does end is looks.  Women are as guilty of this as men.  But who still looks good in their seventies or older?  Not many of us.

Then a miracle happened.  No, I didn’t find Mr. Right.  Instead, I totally lost interest in men and sex around age 70.  I have no idea why.  My hormones were long gone.  What I do know is that it was an enormous relief.

 I don’t miss those hormones or the anguish of longing for love.  Yes, I do miss sex, mostly the huggy, kissy part, and I miss close companionship the most.  I may have aged out of the dating pool, but I haven’t become miraculously self-sufficient.  I envy friends with long marriages who are still friends with their husbands. I’d love to have someone to curl up with and watch Netflix and share a pizza.   But a long marriage is no longer an option for me.  And the alternative--dating --is too stressful to even contemplate at this age.  

 Don’t tell me it’s never too late to find love.   Yes, it IS too late—and that’s OK.   Maybe I’ll find my soulmate in my next life.

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