Men at 50 (and why they're superior)

*edited for even more whining*


Men, like wine, cheese, and certain types of ham, often become better with age.  This is as obvious to me as, oh, I don’t know, the nose on my face, for example.  I don’t think I have a fetish, and I don’t collect men in their late forties/early fifties (though I sort of wish I could, you know, for later), but I did, in a way, take it as a given that men at that age were generally acknowledged to have a certain I-don’t-know-what that the French like to call a certain I-don’t-know-what (I translated that for you. You’re welcome).  James Bond has never been twenty.  Nor has Harrison Ford, as far as I’m concerned. 

So I have been marveling while I watch a discussion taking place on a certain Gold Box Forum in which a man, around the age of 50, asked if it was possible that women in their twenties and thirties might possibly be interested in him, because it seemed as though they were.  Yes, a few said, it is within the realm of possibility, because girls think old guys have money.  But most said, ick, eww, yuck, you’re delusional, that couldn’t happen because it’s creepy. (In fairness, a couple did say “heck yes, men that age are fine.) 

Now, my own inclinations aside, is it really that difficult to see where the interest might be? How many men are paraded in front of us, as a society, who are over forty and deemed “the sexiest man alive”? A bunch, if you want a non-mathematical number.  A whole bunch.  George Clooney, Brad Pitt, all of the James Bonds, Colin Firth, the aforementioned Harrison Ford, Cary Grant, Kyle Chandler, who only looks like he’s twenty-five, and goodgodman, many more, are all well over forty and not a one of ‘em is worse for the wear.   We, as a culture, have set this standard. It’s the same standard that for years insisted that a woman over the age of thirty was a dried-up old prune, which has thankfully begun to shift a little.

Perhaps for some people it is about the presumed financial security an established man can offer, a sort of primordial instinct, and real physical attraction never plays into it.  I don’t know about those people. I think those might be the same people whose first question to a man is “what do you do for a living?” or “what kind of car do you drive?”  Me, I don’t look to a man to support me. That’s my job.  What I do look to a man for is companionship, a sense of humor, kindness, and make-me-quiver-to-my-knees kissing and, well, you know.  And lots of that last one. And that’s often, though not always, where a few extra years come in handy.  Often (though not always), young men need to sow some wild oats and get in some practice before they are ready to think about what women want.  Add to that the confidence and self-assuredness that comes with age, the comfort with one's self that begins to emerge, and it makes even more sense. Why would anyone be surprised that people would find a confident, self-assured man physically desirable? George Clooney was kind of ordinary before he hit forty, but he’s been strangely appealing since then, and though Kyle Chandler as always been freakin’ adorable, well, nothing, he’s always been freakin’ adorable and I suspect he always will be. Sigh.  I need to see Super 8.

Not that I ever have a point, but if I did, it would probably be something like this: if a girl who is in her twenties or thirties digs a guy who is in his forties or fifties, don’t judge.  We are culturally conditioned to acknowledge the appeal of men-of-a-certain-age, it might even be hard-wired in, and ultimately, what’s so wrong with it anyway?

Meh-widge.

I recently read a synopsis of a book, a rather thorough synopsis, about marriage. It was something like “Why Men Marry Some Women and Not Others.”  It didn’t delve into marriage exactly, it was more about the act of getting married, and answered such hard-hitting questions as How do women get married? How do they get a man to propose? Ultimately it was about what sort of things play into your favor if you’re looking to get married.  I am now scarred for life.

Truthfully, it wasn’t that scary. It was mostly common sense stuff, with the biggest contributing factor being, surprise, surprise, the desire to get married.  That’s a bit like saying the biggest contributing factor in whether or not a person goes out to eat is the desire to go out to eat, but I’ll play along.  

The statistics of women who marry roughly translate into: be attractive, but not too sexy, dress like a wife, don’t clean for him, don’t have sex with him for a while, impress his family but put him above your own, don’t talk about the future for the first six dates but after that let him know you are seriously going to get married, date around, then don’t, don’t live with your parents, pretend to like football/baseball/hockey/golf, call exes “losers,” be self-assured, talented and thin. Above all, keep your eye on the prize. You should eat, drink, sleep and dream of the ideal; Marriage.

He should be in his thirties, a childless widower, and, well, those are your best odds right there. Just be sure to dump him if he won’t agree to spend the rest of his life with you after about a year or so.

So, how can I say with any degree of confidence that I will not be walking down any aisle other than the shampoo one at Target? Consider this – I am attractive, but not too sexy, I dress like a couch or a college student most of the time, I will clean for you, while wearing something whore-ish and hoping we can please have sex as soon as possible, I may or may not impress your family (who are they? Am I going to be impressed with them as well? Give and take!), but it’s going to be a while before I think you rank above mine. I’m not going to talk about the future in the first six dates, but I probably won’t after that either.  I don’t date around. If we happen to meet, hit it off, then go out, congratulations, we’ve had a date. I’m unlikely to have the energy to do that with more than one guy in a week. And sorry, but sometimes I do live with my parents.  It’s a big house, they’re nice people, so what.  I will watch baseball with you. DO NOT MAKE ME WATCH GOLF! I will heckle.  My exes are all pretty nice and I’m not going to talk smack about them. I am not terribly self-assured, I am somewhat talented, and I’m not very heavy, but I will never be a stick-figure, nor do I want to be.  Finally, on the list of things on my mind at any particular time, marriage is somewhere between “when can I go to Europe next,” and “do flies reincarnate?”  It’s not a big concern. Why write a blog about it then? Sigh. I'm an unmarried woman, what else do I have to do?  As for the man himself – I don’t pay a lot of attention to age, and fine, be a childless widower if you want, but I prefer orphans.  In-laws are cray-zee!

And I mean that!