Fifty is NOT the new forty

My mom has this fantasy of me marrying a rich, handsome man and living happily after ever. She keeps telling me to go to the swanky bars and restaurants where the rich men hang out, but I'm more of a beer and hot dog kind of gal than one that enjoys merlot and filet (but I'm not picky and will gladly have either meal). So I stick to the places I know and enjoy, even if it means the selection of men leaves something to be desired.

My mom recently started working for this family who are members of the local Safari Club. Most of the people that are part of this particular club are quite wealthy because they pay to go on safaris and hunting expeditions all over the world, and this family is no exception. One day, the mother, Wendy, and my mother were talking and my name came up. Of course, when my name comes up, so does my relationship status and why I can't find a decent (and preferably rich) man. My mother has no qualms about trying to fix me up so she asked Wendy if she knew of any rich, single guys that I could be set up with. And matter of fact, she did know of a guy that would be perfect!

This gentleman was in his late thirties, early forties and had played for the Miami Dolphins. He was also a member of the Safari Club and loved it. He had been married but his wife didn't want anything to do with the Safari Club and left him. Wendy gushed about how handsome, rich, and charming he was. Absorbing the information, my mother came back to me and told me everything. I was not feeling the age difference. My parents are sixteen years apart and sometimes I can see the strain the age difference puts on their marriage. But my mom swore up and down that he was good looking and LOADED (as she so eloquently put it)! I decided to research him. After all, he was a pro football player and he would be easy to find.

It didn't take me long to find him. I didn't find any pictures but I did find some stats and a bio. And right there, in the boldest of fonts, was his birthdate. He was born three (yes, three!!) years after my mother. That would put him into his early fifties and nowhere near early forties! I'm sorry, but dating a guy who could be my father makes me cringe. I want to worry about whether the sexual chemistry is working, not if the "little blue pills" are working. I want to explore every inch of him, not every inch that is wrinkled and spotted. I want to imagine growing old with him, not worry about him kicking the bucket in the next fifteen years.

Sorry mom, better luck next time. Let's hope she doesn't swing in the other direction and I end up with a college freshman.