For some reason Valentine's day really bothered me this year. Usually I write heartfelt Valentines to all of my friends telling them how much they mean to me, but not this year. A depressing pall had overtaken me apathetically draining me of the emotional sentience needed to write fond Valentine's Day cards. As I languished in self-pity, I decided to take action. If I could resurrect my Valentine's Day ennui with a date, the effort might salvage my abysmal mood. Emboldened with hope, I posted my heart's desire online. Here is an abbreviated text of what I wrote:
'Exceptional Valentine aspirant had been looking to fulfill her fantasy of having a romantic Valentine's Day. You know, one with dinner, flowers, and a glass of champagne. To be clear, this is not one of those vapid prurient ads desperately wanting a Valentine's FB or FWB. Though I have nothing against that, I am simply underwhelmed by their crude, coarse, and vulgar overtures in what should be a celebration of valuing someone who inspires, delights, and arouses passion. What turns me on is intellect, rapport, finesse, and savoir faire, thrown in together with a bit of levity. Sounds like a pleasant way to enjoy Valentine's Day to me. I promise you'll be pleasantly surprised by my blond bravado, provocative discourse, and obvious cerebral charms. '
The first response seemed promising. However, after this potential suitor demanded a veritable photo album of me before committing to a dinner, his fixation with wanting me to be his Valentine decoration plain bored me to tears. Declining his invitation politely, I informed him that I was more than just a picture.
The responses which followed were far more amazing and inspiring. These men were all in their 20s and 30s (to be fair, I did include my seasoned age in this posting). I was touched by their genuine respectful sweetness and, in spite of being old enough to be their mother, they expressed they found me to be fascinating and alluring potential date. What they repeated said is that I spoke to both their intellect and passion. This turned them on.
Why would an older woman trump the chance at a hot date with a young lovely? Many of them disclosed to me that the high standards younger women expected of them caused them significant angst. This included being an achieving, wealthy, sperm-donating available prince with the ability to sire genetically superior trophy children. No wonder older women look so appealing.
Flattering as these cubs were, I politely sent regrets but secretly I did relish their attentiveness. Too bad I couldn't attract such admiration with my own generation of men.
Now post-Valentine's Day, a couple of these jeune hommes responders have asked to continue writing me. I think I'll let them-at least for a while.
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