Ode to middle age

After a flurry of online dates, writer Adrienne Acton is very happy being a single woman of a certain age who can do what she wants without a significant other stealing her TV remote.

There are many types of single, middle aged women. That is women of my age, 49.

The first type of single middle aged woman is the one that is desperately searching for a man, any man, and feels that she is incomplete unless she can talk about ‘him at home’, or ‘himself’’. It validated her existence in a way. She feels that she stands out like a leper unless she has a significant other and hates people knowing she is ALONE.

The second type of single middle aged woman is the one that was either recently bereaved or her husband ran away with another women, probably the six stone, plastically enhanced secretary. This single woman is the wounded type. A little lost in either grief or hatred. Not quite sure what she is supposed to do next and is relying on her friends and family to show her the way forward. In time she too will move on and there will, again, be a significant other in her life. 

Then there is the third type, the ‘never had a man so I have no idea what I’m missing type’. She will have made friends in her thirties with women that also never married, and will have formed strong bonds with them, a fortress if you will. They generally have had good careers, a good social life, a healthy bank balance and a wrinkle free face. These ladies, when they retire will have holidays in one or other of their timeshare apartments in Lanzarote or the villa in Alicante, a cruise on the Med once a year and spend Christmas in New York drinking wine and admiring one another’s designer handbags. 

Then there is my type, the type that falls between two stools. The type that was always very independent, lived a happy life bouncing from relationship to relationship and then got the fear….the fear that all the men would disappear, get married, and I would be left on the shelf, childless. So you marry, reproduce and eventually get a divorce, well of course you do, if you began life as a happy independent loner then you will, as all people do, revert to type. 

Now that the independence has been retrieved (no mean feat I can tell you) you are less likely to give it up again for love nor money. Let me give you an example. I love sitting in my favourite chair at the end of an evening with either a glass of wine or a bottle of beer, flicking through channels and talking to myself. The thought of some man expecting to have control of the channel changer would put me into a flap. I love going for fast food on a Thursday night with my book, or just relax and do a bit of writing. What if I had to give that up because I was expected either to be at home preparing spuds for ‘himself’ or horror of horrors, have to put my book down to listen to some woeful drivel about his day at work? I can’t for the life of me see why I would go backwards like that and consider it forward motion.

However, it seems I am almost alone in my thinking. All of my friends are all happily involved. Some would fall apart if it wasn’t for himself, others will go out with anyone rather than be single. So as you can imagine they feel that I am not quiet ‘sorted’ as I plough through life alone. I am unfinished business. In order to appease them, I, a few years ago, joined a dating web site. I have to admit that I was very excited by the whole thing, I had visions of interesting conversations, witty repertoire and invigorating outings that would entice me back to ‘relationship bliss’. Alas, I was very disappointed. If I was looking for an elderly bachelor farmer I was away in a hack, or if I was looking for a one night’s stand with a 26 year old I was on the pigs back (so to speak). But if I was looking for a gentleman, taller than me, attractive, with no mammy issues the pickings were slim. Don’t get me wrong, there are a few out there, but they are well hidden, the first date I went on I learned a lot. Firstly I was attracted to his looks on his profile page, dark eyes, dark skin and tall, my type completely. We arranged to meet. What greeted me inside the door of a hotel (please note there was nowhere to run) was a tall, balding grey haired man of about 250 lbs. Now, he was very nice, and intelligent, and extremely quiet, but all I could think of was if he can lie about his appearance what else is he lying about? And what hidden story does he have that managed to knock his confidence? The second date I went on was horrifying, the man in question got annoyed with me that I wasn’t asking him back to my house at the end of the evening. His anger issues had become apparent as the evening had worn on but I had chosen to ignore them, while making light of every little annoyance that he was seeking out. I was glad to get home.

With a rush of blood to the head I also told my aunt (she’s my ex-husband’s aunt but I got her in the divorce) that I was dabbling in internet dating. She was delighted for me. The next time we met we went for a coffee in her local bar and chatted away with the landlady. There happened to be stag gang there waiting for their bus to take them away to make a holy show of themselves and all belonging to them. Out of earshot my two lovely ladies, my aunt and the barmaid, began to plot, and decided on the perfect male for me. The introduction was made to my barely concealed horror. The man they had chosen was 4 ft. 2inches if he were standing on a milk crate. He had greased back hair, ala Elvis Presley and was wearing tight jeans that were too short so the tops of his battered runners were the main attraction. Again, and as expected, he was lovely to talk to but he wasn’t for me. It got me to wondering, is this the man these ladies see as perfect for me, am I looking at myself with rose tinted glasses or is it that many women believe that any man is better that no man? Having given some lame reason as to why my new friend wouldn’t be suitable in the romance department, we departed. 

Six Saturday nights of on-line dating and I was exhausted from it. Everyone says the perfect man is ‘out there somewhere’ but quite frankly he must have no broadband connection or he lives in a castle waiting for his princess to rescue him from the dregs calling to his door.

After six bad dates my friends relented and left me to go back to the comfort of singledom. 

So I’m back to my main point. Some of us are just better single. We function better, we are better off sorting out and catering to our own needs and requirements. Our friends will always remain bothered about us as they think we must be secretly crying into the pillow wishing we had someone beside us snoring, keeping us awake. There are of course moments when we feel a little lonely but this is a symptom of the media. At Valentines we all get the impression, if we believe advertising, that married or involved women everywhere are being treated to a weekend in Paris or a diamond necklace… the solution to this is to buy yourself the perfect gift and repeat into the mirror ‘I love you, you are perfect.’ The second occasion is Christmas/ New Year’s Eve when we all believe that again Ryanair and Aer Lingus are out the door with soppy couples holding hands. Solution to this is to get blotto, absolutely sozzled, ideally with friends, or put on ear muffs and block out all the torture that the advertisers are aiming to put you through. Or go to bed and wait for the commercial storm to pass over. 

So here is the plan. I shall carry on being single, doing as I please. If the urge comes to me and I need a bit of attention I can go back to online dating and take that 26 year old up on his kind offer. A wonderful boost to the confidence level I’ve no doubt. When my friends have all buried their men or watched them run off with younger women I will be there, with the sun cream for everyone, ready to go to Alicante.