I am widowed.  Which is why I am here (see my blog title). I am also dating. Which is why I am on sites like Match.com.  Today, I was talking with a fellow (that sounds wrong) widow. We were talking about men. About dating them, mostly.  She was feeling odd about the prospect of dating someone younger than herself. I could not immediately even grasp what she was saying. I mean, I myself have never experienced that “odd” feeling in relation to dating younger men. What other kind of men are there??  Older ones, I guess.  And what exactly is the draw…?  Maturity?  Some brand of “fatherly-ness?”  I suppose that’s attractive to some women. I don’t know. What? You throw his E.D. issues in the bucket with the fact that your breasts aren’t as perky as they once were, stir…and everyone feels equal? I just don’t see it.  I mean, when I was in college and fell head-over-heels for my late husband, I thought it was kind of sweet that he was 1.5 years my senior. One and a half years seemed perfect.  But let’s get real, my friends… I was 19 when we started dating in earnest.  He was 20…and a HALF. What’s the big difference?  There is none.  Men are a bit less mature than women at that age…so it all balances out nicely. He could have been ten years older than me and it still would have seemed perfectly perfect.  WHEN I WAS 19.

MAINE. Where there are NO MEN!

Okay, but now I am in my forties. Even 1.5 years is too much of a chasm for me to bridge. I did the *unthinkable* and put my profile back up on a certain internet dating site this past weekend. I cannot even believe I am admitting this to anyone. Much less the general population. But, really, I am living in Maine now. MAINE.  Portland, the hot spot. The place where it’s all happening – the big city.  Portland is the only place in this one-area-code-state where there remains a shred of hope if you are single. And, sadly, even here, there are virtually NO MEN.  Where have they gone?  And if you find one, he is probably an outcast from some other civilized place…or has come here to recover from something (like I did!) or he is here by default, unable to function in a state that has the stress associated with multiple area codes.  Like Massachusetts. Or California.  Get the defibrillator!

Now, please, do not write telling me that if I hate Maine so much, I should move. I love Maine. I love the ocean. I love my vintage house. I do not like the lack of men, however. Needless to say, I was depressed upon hearing a good friend proclaim, “Women don’t move to Maine unless they are already bringing a man with them.”  So happy to have gotten that tidbit of enlightenment after I had already taken out a 15 year mortgage. All by myself. Without a man. HEY!  Cool!

"Sorry to hear you're under the weather. Get well soon!"

So, given that I am living in the Sahara desert of dating, you’d think I would be happy to get the attention of any seemingly decent man. No matter what his age. But, I must admit…NO!…  I am not happy with the attention of any seemingly decent man, no matter what his age.  As you know, I have been widowed. My first thought is this:  I am not burying another husband. Nope.  Not doing it.  That was a one-time offer, gentlemen. Marriage vows.  For better or worse?  Been there. Done that. I’m not going down that road again if I can help it. You get diagnosed with terminal cancer?  Sorry…I will be headed off to a spa for a couple of years. I’ll send flowers. I’ll email.   I cannot imagine living through that brand of hell again. Really.  There is only so much one woman can endure. Especially when it comes to unfathomable heartbreak and devastation.

Therefore, a younger man seems like the wise choice.  I know there are no guarantees. But we all know that men tend to wear out earlier than we women do. And why start something with someone who might not have many years left on his warranty?  I suppose I could request a full physical exam, EKG and family history on the first date…but I think I am intimidating enough to most men without making things worse.

So…when you see me out with someone younger…it’s not because I am some desperate older woman, pouncing on poor, unsuspecting young men.  No.  It’s because I have been there and done that and I cannot do a repeat performance of the “burying-the-man-I -love” thing. I know I can’t guarantee that it won’t happen…but, I can at the very least stack the odds in my favor.

Stop looking at me like that. You go and bury the man that you love, and then get back to me when you start getting “winked” at by men on internet dating sites who are old enough to be dating your mother. “Dear Man Who Could be Dating My Mother: I’m sure you are lovely and still have your own teeth and are good hearted, but…really…here is Louise’s phone number.  Ring her up!  PLEASE!  I am no good for you!  The sex alone would kill you!”

And there you have it.  My point exactly.

Of course, there are numerous other reasons for being drawn to someone younger…but I probably don’t need to go into that right now. The imagination is a powerful tool.

Ashton to ashes.  Demi to dust.   When it works, it works.