Since I am recently divorced, my friends have nudged me to get back out there and date. Out where? I ask. I mean, there is not a strong market for the 45-year-old-non-drinking-stay-at-home-mother-of-three-sons demographic – or as I like to call it, “the three penis package deal,” but I have been willing to give it a try.
Friends suggested I try Match.com, eHarmony or HookUpsForMoms. I’ve given a couple of these sites a shot, but to be honest, I just don’t have the energy. In fact, I almost fell asleep on my last date. Don’t get me wrong, the date was hardly boring; he was an engineer, funny, handsome, grown children – the total package.
The problem is that at 45, it takes me 72 hours to get ready for a date. By the time he picks me up, I’m ready for a good night kiss. The days of preparing for a date by adding a second pair of shoulder pads, a half can of Shaper hairspray and my ID are long gone.
72 hours. Can you fathom how long 72 hours is? It’s twice as long as my kids are in school for a whole week and longer than one of Britney Spears’s marriages. In other words, one little date is a serious time investment all designed to look like it took no time at all!
Most importantly, at middle age a date must fall at the right time of the month. No, I’m not talking about that. I’m talking about the optimal hair color time of the month—before the gray outgrowth creates that stripy, skunky look.
And although the south lawn has not experienced a lot of traffic recently, it definitely is in need of some professional landscaping. New to me at 45, are options like shapes and dyes-- a neon pink heart, an arrow or even a Hello Kitty. Hmmmm…kinda creepy. I just heard Nair is releasing a set of stencils for the do-it-yourself gang.
An additional four hours of prep is required for self-tanning towelettes to completely dry, an hour for white strips to whiten, another to pluck the eyebrows and another for a full body scan to check for random hairs that should not be there.
But as a dating mom, I can’t just sit around while the tan tans, the white strips whiten and the nails dry. I must multi-task. Because not only do I have to look good, the house has to be presentable… just in case. So while the bronzer bronzes and my teeth begin to sparkle, I vacuum, fold laundry, and pick up Legos in the nude.
A decent amount of time must be dedicated to the Spanx versus thong decision. The truth is, good foundations are key to keeping the jiggle out of our wiggle. So, if the handbag I plan to carry is of sufficient size, I am able to give myself the option to perform the Spanx-to-thong-switcheroo in the ladies room just before for the ride home.
But as I write this, standing at the kitchen counter completely naked, I realize my bronzer has bronzed and it’s already T minus four hours. I think this may be the last date for a while as it seems cooking Thanksgiving dinner for 30, taking 25 Cub Scouts camping or chaperoning a lockdown at the Y might be less labor intensive than getting myself ready for another date at 45. This three-penis-package-deal needs a nap!