Ever since my Facebook friend Sabrina began campaigning for me to "steal" her mother's heart, I've found myself having to think about something that had previously not even entered my mind at this advanced age and after the hazards of three marriages--specifically, the whole idea of being in a romantic relationship with a woman again and whether that seems to be a compelling situation or one to be avoided. And, frankly, I'm leaning heavily toward avoidance. My inner voice rather insistently advises, 'Learn a lesson from the past already, man!' Lol.
Three strikes and you're out, right?
In former years, I have always been the sort that threw his whole heart into a relationship, investing an energy and will that I now no longer possess. Or at least I don't think I do. The very idea is exhausting. Moreover, I was told so many times during my third marriage that my illness was a burden that I have come to believe that it is indeed. What does a man who is old and ill have to offer a wife?
So, I attempted to gently explain this to the hopeful matchmaker, Sabrina.
"I just wish that I was younger, you know, Sabrina? I mean, your mother is like fifteen years younger than I."
"Oh, that's okay. She likes older men."
"Oh, well … yeah, but I don't have any money, Sabrina."
"Oh, that's okay. My mom has money."
Good grief. What to do? Change my name? Delate my Facebook account? Swim to a nearby island?
Honestly, I'm pretty happy, pretty peaceful on my own. Sure, I get lonely sometimes--but, at my age, I address that by simply going to sleep. My space is my own, my time is my own, my peace is my own and my problems are my own. In my life, as it turns out, there has been no such thing as the faithful, ever loving partner, the flesh of my flesh and bone of my bone. It just never happened. I've seen it before, and it's an awesome thing indeed, but it just never happened to me.
Three strikes and you're out, right?
In former years, I have always been the sort that threw his whole heart into a relationship, investing an energy and will that I now no longer possess. Or at least I don't think I do. The very idea is exhausting. Moreover, I was told so many times during my third marriage that my illness was a burden that I have come to believe that it is indeed. What does a man who is old and ill have to offer a wife?
So, I attempted to gently explain this to the hopeful matchmaker, Sabrina.
"I just wish that I was younger, you know, Sabrina? I mean, your mother is like fifteen years younger than I."
"Oh, that's okay. She likes older men."
"Oh, well … yeah, but I don't have any money, Sabrina."
"Oh, that's okay. My mom has money."
Good grief. What to do? Change my name? Delate my Facebook account? Swim to a nearby island?
Honestly, I'm pretty happy, pretty peaceful on my own. Sure, I get lonely sometimes--but, at my age, I address that by simply going to sleep. My space is my own, my time is my own, my peace is my own and my problems are my own. In my life, as it turns out, there has been no such thing as the faithful, ever loving partner, the flesh of my flesh and bone of my bone. It just never happened. I've seen it before, and it's an awesome thing indeed, but it just never happened to me.
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