Some years ago, I turned 60. Single, self-sufficient. Is this all there is, I wondered. I noticed an advertisement for an online dating website. Sounded romantic, I registered – for romance – and joined the sexagenarian wannabes!
The first week online, I received a ‘kiss’ from a 68-year-old man who said he wanted a friend. We commenced an online email acquaintance, where he requested my phone number. Being new and naïve, I provided him with my mobile. Wrong! He only wanted to talk dirty and abuse women. He became a bit of a nuisance, so I stopped responding. He gave up ringing me in the end. I think he got carted off to the valley of the elderly loon, and someone threw away his phone.
That was a non-romance. Around the same time, another man ‘kissed’ me, he was far nicer about it all. We met a couple of times for a cup of tea. He was a farmer living far away, who was converting his ute into a campervan. Good guy, but this 60-something old bag did not wish to venture on that one. I decided I did not feel any ‘chemistry’ or ‘sparks’, so he still camps in his ute alone.
Time rolled by, I receive daily perfect matches and have ‘dates’ with a man every now and again. One man I met for the obligatory coffee in daylight at a neutral ‘safe’ location, had more than one coffee. He sat down, and we chatted. I channelled all the best advice on how to talk to a new friend. I asked him about his car, his music, his pets, his employment. That set him off to venting about his ex-wife for two hours. Eyes glazing, I wanted to ask him for his ex’s phone number, seek her view of their ‘amicable’ divorce. I drove home awash with caffeine.
Still single, I met another new potential beau. This guy was also a sexagenarian, definitely a wannabe. He was also a fellow ex-teacher. That first encounter … in the first minute, he groped me and kissed me on the lips. Bit forward, I thought. Over an excellent coffee, he told me he was prepared to give me a relationship, if I lowered my expectations. Huh?? “No immediate danger!” I considered he was ‘up’ himself, and pondered if he said that to all the over-60 women who agreed to meet him.
Ah, another perfect match. I grab a Snickers bar. All the profiles of Dad’s Army of sexagenarian wannabes start to appear the same. Same old faces and phrases. These men are so ‘sincere’, ‘honest’, and ‘trustworthy’. They all wish to be ‘tactile’ and wander hand-in-hand at sunset on a distant shore with a ‘soulmate’. I do imagine every beach in Australia crammed with online daters walking into the sunset. No room for jellyfish.
Sexagenarian wannabes. Maybe some have had better luck than I did. Never provide your phone number straight away, that applies to either gender. Never trust anyone who asks you for your bank account or money, whatever the excuse. Never trust anyone who lives in ‘Melbourne’ or ‘Sydney’, they are very big suburbs. Never trust anyone who says they live overseas, they are predators. But you might meet someone new, make a new friend, maybe a romance. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. Perfect match? Or single and self-sufficient? The saga of the sexagenarians.