Midlife Horror

 

Another weekend and another stupendous offer to set this old lady up.

There’s a couple who live in my building. They married two years ago. She is a typical fresh-faced California girl who at 40-something maintains her bubbly effervescence. She wears no make-up, dresses simply, and is slightly Rubenesque but very pretty. She radiates spirituality and kindness, but is a bit eccentric in an extremely cool way. Her husband is older, in his late 50s, a native of Uruguay, and is very religious. A few months ago, she gave birth to her miracle baby—a beautiful baby girl. I was ecstatic to see this precious family proudly walking the promenade near the beach with their live-in baby nurse. (Hey, when you’re older and have kids, you need help!). I purchased two outfits for the baby, and the mom called to thank me for the gift when suddenly she says,

“I wanted to set you up with someone. He is brilliant, wealthy, and someone who I consider an uncle, even though we aren’t biologically related!”

She hesitates, and I don’t have to be a quantum physicist to anticipate the dreaded,

“BUT…”

Numerous fatalistic scenarios dance through my hyperactive brain.

1. He never was married—RED FLAG. Since I define myself through my progeny, it is hard for me to relate to someone who has never had to do 6 months of 2 am feedings or have a teenager scream “I hate you” while slamming every door in the house.

2. Is an octogenarian (self-explanatory)

3. Is ‘Chubby’

Instead, she pauses, looks directly into my eyes

“He has a SMALL disability.”

(It takes a lot to shock me. The last time I was taken aback was in 2015 when I discovered the “hot” guy asking me out on the beach was not 25, but 19)

“What sort of disability?”

After all, I pride myself in being non-judgmental and giving anyone with a pulse a chance.

“He doesn’t walk very well. He needs a wheelchair to walk more than a few blocks.”

I, politely, mention that I have nurtured and taken care of people my entire life and that I want someone to take care of me, for a change.

“Oh, he can take care of you!”

(Somehow I can’t envision the guy throwing me over his shoulders and carrying me off into our love nest)

“How old is he?”

“I think he’s in his 70s!”

(This was getting better by the moment)

“Sure, give him my number, but not before I go out with your 95-year-old grandfather."

Century Village, here I come!

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