Pride and Prejudice?

It is a truth universally to be acknowledged that a middle-aged woman in possession of a fortune* is not in want of a spouse.  What she wants is a partner, companionship, sex.

Two of the three may be provided by friends, but the third is more complicated.

On the one hand (pun intended), technological advances have made vibrators highly productive.  Thank God for Scandinavian design.

On the other hand, no hand-held electronic device substitutes for handholding, skin caressing, and lips touching shoulders, necks, ears, and, well, lips.

Advances in technology attempt to solve for this problem as well, providing an efficient means for connecting tens of thousands of similarly seeking souls online and then, if mutual interest is piqued, IRL.  But several years of painstaking, intermittent, and unscientific research reveal that the online dating game has substantial obstacles for women in their middle years.

First and foremost, it appears that many (most?) men in those same middle years are seeking much younger women.  How that works out is unclear to hypothetical middle age woman as she has no insight into her would-be peers’ data.  What is evident from their profiles is that lots of men in and around age fifty-five set the upper limit of the woman they’re seeking at age forty.

As a general rule, most of the fellas who do seek someone age appropriate look like hell (bad haircut; unkempt facial hair; terrible camera angle; fish) so perhaps they have given up trying to entice younger women.

Side note to men:  the only person impressed by your big fish is another man.

Similarly, posing with fast cars/motorcyles/planes/jetskis/helicopters brings to a thinking woman’s mind exactly one question:  for what deficit does that expensive vehicle compensate?

In addition to the shaggy dudes with fish and the insecure types with shiny metal toys, there are two other categories of interested and purportedly eligible men (but who really knows other than their current wives or girlfriends; more on that later), and they fall on opposite ends of the growth chart.

First come the sweet, cute, gym-frequenting, may or may not be gainfully employed twenty to thirty-somethings.

For about half a second, or fifteen minutes whilst playing with her JimmyJane, the hypothetical middle-aged woman fantasizes about what might be possible with the hot male body that the would-be dater has thoughtfully displayed in his profile.

She may even engage in flirtatious banter with him.   After all, it’s flattering that someone decades younger finds her attractive.

But as she considers making plans to meet in public, because she always meets in public on the first date, reality dawns.  She would look and feel like a fool having coffee with a child who could be younger than her offspring.  A glass of wine?  What if he gets carded while she’s being offered the senior discount?

Secondly, hot male torso is not looking to date.  Good chance he couldn’t afford the beverage, either, though one young man boasts on his profile that he’ll take women out for a coffee; “my treat!”  Given the real estate market where theoretical woman lives, hot body probably shares a one-bedroom apartment with four other horny young men, all of whom have heard that women of a certain age seek opportunities to “cuddle” with attractive heterosexual males.

After carefully balancing her instincts (hot sex with sexy young man) against her intellect (STDs?  Morning after regrets?  The wrinkles around her neck that might turn off twenty something male?  The bit of excess material around the middle, reminder of the three children to whom she’s given birth who are not much younger than would-be suitor?), she files his image in her mental JimmyJane folder and regretfully declines the encounter.

The other category of male who “likes” theoretical female has more to offer–education, stability, financial security, life experience.   A lot more, in fact: he’s generally ten to twenty years older than she is and sports an impressive paunch and jowls.  The thing is, theoretical mid-fifties woman works out, eats healthily, and shaves.  She wants someone who similarly takes care of himself rather than to be arm candy for a dude who resembles her dad.

There are some—a few—okay, two—men her own age who appear to meet her criteria and to be looking for someone age appropriate, i.e. her.  But upon closer inspection, said dudes turn out to have more in common with the youngsters than one might assume.  They, like the twenty-somethings, have learned that in this free-for-all online dating game, if you are an attractive male, you can expect to “cuddle” first and consider a relationship—or not—later.  When theoretical woman invites you to a dance party with her friends, you will respond, unabashedly, “It’s too soon for that.  I can see you don’t want to be alone or intimate with me.  Good luck.”

In other words, the plan was to fuck first and then see if we had anything in common.

As for the posers, the purportedly single men who are actually entangled, they come in at least three varieties.  First are those who are refreshingly forthright, stating on their profile that they are in an open relationship or similar equivocal category that gives theoretical single woman the creeps. 

Thank you for your honesty, she thinks, swiping left.

Another category is more compelling but equally risky:  men fresh from relationships or widowed.  Theoretical woman got bruised by this type when she dated an itinerant preacher and world traveling humanitarian whose wife had died in Africa.  He came to the U.S. to recuperate.  After a year or so, he felt ready for female companionship, so his daughter posted him online.

He was wrong about his readiness.

Theoretical woman and the Aussie preacher went for strenuous hikes in the foothills and long walks on the beach; he brought dog bones for McNabbish her dog and sandwiches for the humans.  They had good conversations and seemed to have an encouraging, emerging connection.

She resisted physical involvement, wary of his wounds and uncertain of his convictions.  But he persisted and eventually—that is, after a couple of weeks–she succumbed.

Immediately thereafter, hypothetical woman learned one of those lessons—like jumping off a cliff into shallow water—that by the time you learn it, it’s too late.

Namely, once she’d been seduced with poetic descriptions of her womanhood and her Chagall-colored secret interior landscape, Aussie preacher fled.

It had been too much, too soon, his morning after text explained.  He hadn’t realized how much the experience would evoke painful memories of his wife.

Fair enough, thought theoretical woman.  For the widowed preacher, that’s romantic and sweet and sad.

But what about me, the living woman you seduced last night?  Maybe you should have thought this through more carefully, preacher man.

Worse by far than those with dead wives are those whose living partners are unaware of their significant others’ significant wandering.

Theoretical woman experienced this with a Kiwi, another gentleman who found and pursued her online.  Like the preacher, he wasn’t 100% in the cute camp, but he was tall, well-traveled, ran his own successful business, and his dog loved hers.  The four of them went on hikes amongst the redwoods; a picnic at sunset, admiring the Golden Gate; and then for a proper date with drinks and dinner and live music.

Tall Kiwi wanted her to spend the night; she demurred, not entirely sold on his appeal.  But the night was wretched—cold, wet, windy—his cottage was cozy and warm, and there was the matter of crossing the wind-pummeled bridge to get from his home to her own.

No sooner did hypothetical woman get cozy with the Kiwi on the couch than McNabbish the dog began whimpering to leave.  Into the wind and rain hypothetical took her, but a pee or two would not suffice; McNabbish nipped and yipped and insisted that they go home.  In the car, her mission accomplished, McNabbish curled up on the passenger seat and fell asleep.

Next morning, hypothetical received a Facebook message from someone we’ll call “Sophie.”

Hypothetical does not know someone named Sophie.

Sophie writes, “I don’t think you know this, but you’re dating my boyfriend.  He sent me a text this morning that I think was meant for you.”

“Dude, you’re sixty,” hypothetical reminded the philandering, stammering, Kiwi who called shortly thereafter to “explain” while, unbeknownst to him, online, hypothetical and Sophie compared his ongoing lies.

Indeed, if there is one clear advantage to this newish online dating system, it’s that social media has made it easier for current and ex- wives and girlfriends to find and warn one another about the divergence between a potential amour’s profile and his reality.  Of course, men, too, may and probably do use social media to investigate potential companions.  In fact, perhaps online dating platforms ought to streamline the verification process, enabling former partners to rate a profile for trustworthiness, values, abdominal muscles, or whatever other categories might provide useful information.

On the other hand, given the paucity of suitable suitors for hypothetical middle-aged woman, adding yet more variables might reduce the pool of fish to not even a solitary guppy, which is a possibility ever hopeful hypothetical isn’t ready to consider.  Instead, she continues the search for her elusive, age appropriate, healthy, clean shaven, (tall, educated, and amusing) fish.

*”Fortune” here refers not to Mr. Darcy’s estates but rather Virginia Woolf’s estimation of what female writers need, “five hundred a year each of us and rooms of our own.”