Friday, September 30, 2016

Night of the Living DudeBro

There's a whole lot of disappointment in store when you look in the mirror and realize that you're not at all what someone wanted in their life. You've been able to tick off the comparisons, each deadlier than the next, as they've arisen:
  • You're not a former beauty queen.
  • You're not rail-thin.
  • You're not twenty or thirty years younger.
  • You actually work for a living and consider your profession a career, not a job.
  • You aren't particularly interested in Junior League or Women's Club.
  • You don't like having your food ordered for you as if you can't read the menu.
  • That hand in the small of your back is a little too proprietary, as if the next gesture might be peeing on your leg to "mark" you. 
  • They have become habitues of "breastaurants" and other obnoxiously misogynistic locales.
I'm not Barbie. I'm not Miss America (despite my grandmother having been Miss Arizona, TYVM). I'd like to think that my ability to hold an engaging conversation, my educational and professional attainment, and my wit might count for something, but alas...I have neither youth nor looks on my side. It's just really depressing to figure out that someone you've actually dated at some point probably found your appearance and age repellent, since you observe that he's suddenly chasing young, thin, and dumb.

It might just be the Middle Age Crazies, or second childhood, if you will, but one does wonder: why in the absolute hell did he even ask you out the second time, when clearly, you're not his type? Oh, wait, maybe you're "interesting", i.e., morbidly fascinating, or rather, you're being dissected as "Why do I find this woman attractive at all, when she's not any of the superficial things for which I'm normally looking?", a bit like a science experiment.

Maybe I'm just punchy. Maybe I'm weary of being found wanting. Maybe I've realized that it's quite likely that I'll never be asked out again by anyone. Oh, well. There must be a couple of books lying around that I haven't read. I'd better figure out what they are so I'll have something to do on all those vacant weekend nights stretching out before me into oblivion.


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