Something odd has recently been happening to me over the past 3 months and I have absolutely no idea why!
All the peri-menopause literature informed me of the hell to be unleashed once my female hormones kiss me goodbye. Nowhere however, did anyone warn me about possibility of a sudden uplift in my sexual mojo! I’ve psyched myself up for the horrors to come: whiskers, sweating from every pore, putting on 10lbs overnight… The inevitable fight to maintain my femininity once the oestrogen levels plummet. Wrestling with the sex drive of my 20’s wasn’t something that came into the equation.
Whatever happened to ‘use it or lose it?’ I haven’t ‘used it’ in a very long time, so where this hormonal resurgence has come from is beyond me.
As excited as I am to once again experience those very welcome ‘surges’, they’re a bloody nuisance when you’re single and middle-aged with your sexual confidence on the floor. What am I supposed to do? This isn’t 1988 anymore – it’s not exactly like I turn heads walking down the street. I have literally turned into the Invisible Woman, so being chatted up at the bus stop (it used to happen once – oh happy day!), doesn’t really present a viable option. I’m presented with a dilemma that I had not for a minute anticipated. Having been single for 3 years, I am aware of the quick fixes, but wanting to share my ‘rediscovery’ isn’t quite as simple.
Before I hear the usual refrain of ‘join a club’ or ‘go on a night class’, don’t bother. Been there, tried those. Yes – I’ve met guys there, but no ‘boat-floaters’ as yet. There’s something to be said for cute Nerd-types and Geek chic, but there are limits…. Geek may be cute when you’re young and wear it well, but 59-year-old nerdery doesn’t quite carry the same ‘je ne sais quoi.’
Internet dating? Yes – been there done those too. Strong-armed by work colleagues, I’ve tentatively dipped my toe into the virtual Pools of Zoosk, Bumble, Bristlr, Match.com and Guardian soulmates. Each for a maximum of 3 weeks before disillusioned, I’ve conceded defeat and thrown in the towel. I’ve never touched Tinder; it just seems mucky……
As a 51-year-old woman who is regularly told she looks younger than her age, I had hoped – over optimistically it would appear – to appeal to potential dates between 45- 55 years of age….not birth year. Boy, was I wrong. None of the ‘takers’ would usually even register in my visual field! Conceit has no place in this comment. An example: one profile pic showed my potential date sitting legs akimbo on a dirty, brown sofa, grinning in an oversized pair of grubby, white Y fronts and holding a can of Stella. His teeth had seen better days too ( a couple of decades before). In my horrific fascination, I felt compelled to open his profile, much to my regret when he started stalking me online. Nah – it’s not for me. I’m going to leave internet dating to the so-called Millennial’s.
Ah – bring in Oscar the Dog! Dogs are conversation starters aren’t they? With that firmly in mind, we power walk (I’m power pulled) to the local park and whilst Oscar runs around scaring little children, I wait for an attractive dog owner to approach. One uptight female with her dog tight on the lead and a group of pensioners later, I’m still talking to myself.
The only people who approach me to compliment my gorgeous Staffie X, are hooded young people and the homeless; just before they tout for “80p to get the train home.” I love my little mutt, but he’s been useless at helping me get a date!
So then, where does that leave me? 51 and single, having been rudely hijacked by a raging libido? Well it’s a case of answers-on-a-postcard please. In the meantime the quick-fix reigns supreme!