(NOTE: Some people think Christians should never think about sex, much less write about it. If you are one such person, I recommend you read your Bible a lot better. And I recommend you don't read this blog.)
I love being 55. My sixth decade on this planet has been fantastic, and I love almost everything to do with my advancing age. But I realize everybody doesn't feel this way, especially people a lot younger than I am.
There is a precious young woman, dear to Winnie and me, who turned 30 yesterday. She has spent some time recently dreading her thirtieth birthday. Many women do.
I was seven when my mother turned 30. I remember coming home from school, evaluating the situation quickly, then going into my bedroom, closing the door, and staying there. I could be very intelligent when I was a little boy!
I didn't know Winnie until after her thirtieth birthday. But she tells me she never said she was 29. She spent that last year in her 20's saying, "I'm going on 30," preparing herself for the disaster to come.
On that fateful day she stayed home from work, cleaned her apartment to within an inch of its life, preparatory to a party she gave herself, not a "birthday party", but an "anti-depression party". No cakes, only pies. No one who showed up with a cake or a present was admitted. And admitted, no one was permitted to go. "Don't leave me!" she begged, and did everything she could to keep them all there until the stroke of midnight turned March 21 to March 22.
Daddy told me his fortieth was devastating to him, though he never showed it. But I remember the year after my fortieth birthdy punctuated by an unbearable sense of "Is this all I've done with my life?"
For women, apparently, it is the 30th when the death knell begins to sound. Somehow, after that date, you're no longer a young woman. No longer the ingenue. No longer fertile, no longer desireable, the ticking of the biological clock begins increasingly to deafen, the sound of shovels digging your grave begins to sound faintly, and louder every day, in your ears. What is left after 30 for a woman but increasing age, increasing UNdesireability, and death?
There is a word for men who don't find 30+ women attractive: STUPID!
There is much I could say on the subject, but I can't say it better than Frank Kaiser did eleven years ago:
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One of the perks of dufferdom is an increased capacity to appreciate people. Friends. Spouses. And, for me, women. All women.
When I was 20, I had eyes only for girls my age. Any woman over 30 was ancient, over 40 invisible. Today, now in my 70s, I still appreciate the 20-year-old for her youthful looks, vigor, and (occasional) sweet innocence. But I equally enjoy women of my own age and beyond, and every age in between. I've learned that each has its own special wonders, attractions, magic and beauty. As I grow in age, I value mature ladies most of all. Here are just a few of the reasons senior men sing the praises of older women:
An older woman knows how to smile with such brightness and truth, old men stagger.
An older woman will never ask out of the blue, "What are you thinking?" An older woman doesn't care what you think.
An older woman has been around long enough to know who she is, what she wants, and from whom. By the age of 50, few women are wishy-washy. About anything. Thank God!
And yes, once you get past a wrinkle or two, an older woman is far sexier than her younger counterpart! Her libido's stronger. Her fear of pregnancy's gone. Her appreciation of experienced lovemaking is honed and reciprocal. And she's lived long enough to know how to please a man in ways her daughter could never dream of. (Young men, you have something to look forward to!)
Older women are forthright and honest. They'll tell you right off that you are a jerk if you're acting like one. A young woman will say nothing, fearing that you might think worse of her. An older woman doesn't give a damn.
An older, single woman usually has had her fill of "meaningful relationships" and "long-term commitments." Can't relate? Can't commit? She could care less. The last thing she needs in her life is another whiny, dependent lover!
Older women are sublime. They seldom contemplate having a shouting match with you at the opera or in the middle of an expensive dinner. Of course, if you deserve it, they won't hesitate to shoot you if they think they can get away with it.
Most older women cook well. They care about cleanliness. They're generous with praise, often undeserved.
An older woman has the self-assurance to introduce you to her women friends. A young woman often snarls with distrust when "her guy" is with other women. Older women couldn't care less.
Women get psychic as they age. You never have to confess your sins to an older woman. Like your mother, they always know.
Yes, we geezers praise older women for a multitude of reasons. These are but a few. Unfortunately, it's not reciprocal. For every stunning, smart, well-coifed babe of 75 there's a bald, paunchy relic with his yellow pants belted at his armpits making a fool of himself with some 22-year-old waitress.
Ladies, I apologize for my fellow geezers. That men are genetically inferior is no secret. Count your blessings that we die off at a far younger age, leaving you the best part of your lives to enjoy and appreciate the exquisite woman you've become. Without the distraction of some demanding old coot clinging and whining his way into your serenity. (http://www.suddenlysenior.com/praiseolderwomen.html)
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Thanks, Frank, I couldn't not have said it nearly so well!
Thank you, Lovely Wife, for teaching me so much!
Thank you, God, for letting me live long enough to learn this wonderful lesson!
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