Since October 7, I’ve struggled to write about my insipid daily life as an aging woman navigating all the isms thrown my way. But I’ve realized I need some self-deprecating humor—because if you wait long enough, everything becomes hilarious, especially the unintentional comedy of interactions with the opposite sex.
A few months ago, I moved a few blocks into a new building. Moving day was an absolute nightmare. I was dealing with a bipolar Israeli guy with a trailer—no moving truck—who berated me nonstop, damaged my furniture, and somehow managed to tack on an exorbitant amount of shekels to the original price. Meanwhile, I was just trying to get through the chaos.
During this ordeal, I ran into a couple who insisted on setting me up with an older gentleman. His wife had left him, remarried before the lawyers even finished their paperwork, and apparently was a wealthy, self-made workaholic—one of those archetypes who, as soon as they retire, their spouses can’t stand to spend more than five minutes with them.
Since the Jewish social universe is tiny and we all know each other, I told these well-meaning folks that I’d spoken to him on the phone—yes, the pony express of modern communication—four years ago, and he never followed up. I wasn’t upset; he sounded about as exciting as a root canal. But I digress.
They insisted I at least meet him, and after some gentle arm-twisting, I agreed to give him a chance. I figured I was a “catch.” Meanwhile, a younger Latin guy in my building had been hitting on me in the elevator, and I thought, “Hey, I still got it!”
Little did I know.
That weekend, I attended shul, where swarms of men sat around a long rectangular table heaped with “delectable” treats like herring and chopped liver. The aroma wafting from that side of the room was a curious mix of booze, fish, and musty books—yet it didn’t seem to bother any of the men from diving in. They looked like they hadn’t eaten in days.
I glanced to my right and saw the gentleman who had tried to set me up with his friend. Before I could even open my mouth, he loudly proclaimed:
“Sorry, my friend refuses to date an alte babbe”-(which means “old grandmother,” in case you’re wondering)
I looked at him and laughed while he insisted that he told the guy that I looked young and beautiful. (In certain “lighting😁)
Later, I found out that he was a “George Clooney” lookalike, if you’re visually impaired and had a few drinks or if George had been hit by a bus.
The next day I received a random text from a guy I NEVER met,
“Henshi, I saw you recently and boy, did you age!”
Instead of responding “WTA…insert expletive of choice. I wrote,
“Well, it happens to the best of us!”
Which warranted this,
“BUT, you’re still a beautiful woman.”
To which I replied,
“And you’re still a nasty ____”
(Insert expletive of choice.)😁😜😅