Oh, they can all jog on! Im not a one-woman support desk. The unfiltered musing of 52-year-old Susan about the men shes met in her fifties
My friend Sue has thrown herself back into the dating scene after a ten-year sabbatical. She thought shed stumble upon an intriguing gentleman, but what she got was a crash courseten lessons, no lesson the peculiar ways mature relationships actually tick. Spoiler: Its not quite the fairy tale wed imagined.
She called late, voice weary but laced with sardonic wit:
Honestly, either Im madly in love with being on my own, or these blokes are living on a completely different planet. Its baffling.
Weve known each other more than twenty years. Sues never been one to swoon or wallowshe laughs at life and owns her awkward moments. Friends had convinced her to give it a whirl. Its about time, love! Who knows, you might get lucky. So, she agreed. Ten dates in six months. Each one like a chapter from a sitcomonly the laugh track was optional.
First Impressions: Are You Suitable?
It all started fairly normally. A little café, a menu, polite chit-chat. The chap studied the food choices as if he were doing due diligence for a pension plan. Finally, with a heavy sigh, he declares:
You know, I simply cant function without a proper roast on Sundays.
Sue nodded, assuming he was having a laugh. But soon the talk veered sharply off-piste. Turns out, his ex-wife had forgotten how to make the bed properly, and now hes after a woman with capable hands and her head screwed on. Special emphasis on the hands.
Sue sat there wondering: when did duvet covers become a first-date topic?
The Unexpected Domestic Policy Monologue
Date number two began conventionally but mutated into a one-man TED talk. He waxed lyrical about what makes a woman an ideal partner: supportive, nurturing, wise, and endlessly patient. Lovely, in theoryif you ignore the details.
He moaned about high blood pressure, whipped out a printout of GP-approved recipes, and asked if she could cook low-sodium broths. What he really wanted, Sue realised, was a personal nurse with a bit of culinary flairon rota.
He talked about feelings like he was reading out the warranty on a vacuum cleaner, Sue told me. Everything was bullet points and no heart.
Romantic spark? Extinguished.
Wisdom, Apparently, Is Agreement
The third chapter is hard to forget. He opened with:
Lets not argue now. At our age, the lady needs to be wise.
Sue couldnt help herself:
And what, pray tell, is your definition of wisdom?
His answer resembled soft cheese: hard to pin down, but the gist was crystal clearhe wanted peace. His kind of peace, where the woman just nods, agrees, radiates warmth, and never asks any sticky questions. No debates, no shared ground. crystal-clear expectations of the proper way.
Sue twigged: this wasnt a search for a partner. It was a quest for a round-the-clock yes-person.
Mums the Word
Bachelor number four didnt even bother with pretence:
I need looking after. Like when I was a kid, you follow? he said. Someone to care for me, just like Mum used to.
He proceeded to describe his favourite childhood pie, the correct way to fold his socks, the ideal slippersdeadly serious, not a hint of irony.
Sue sat there, thinking: hes not after a woman. He wants a home delivery service for nostalgia.
Job Interview, But Less Fun
Fifth times the charm? Not quite. This date felt like a job interview at a very tedious civil service branch.
Hows your health? Often ill?
Do your relatives live nearby?
Steady income, is it?
Sue relayed this one with a smirk, but I could hear the exhaustion. She wasnt being asked, Who are you? but rather, What services do you provide? These werent dates; it was compliance testing.
So, Whats Up With These Men?
After the tenth not-so-magical encounter, Sue called with this nugget of wisdom:
They dont want a partner. They want a reliable maintenance contract. Thats it.
No resentment, no tantrum. Just solid, British honesty.
Men of a certain age, she observed, are far more terrified of change than of loneliness. What they crave are assurances of perpetual comfort. Ideally, all rolled up in one: a nurse, a chef, a therapist, andjust for funsomeone who thanks her lucky stars shes been chosen.
And when Sue posed the question:
So, whats in it for me?
She was met with pure bewilderment: What do you mean? Im a man! Thats surely enough?
Are They All Like This? Is There Hope?
Sue is quick to clarify:
I know not all men are like this. The clever, interesting, emotionally mature onestheyre all snapped up, bless them.
Shes not lost hope, but she has adjusted her settings. Now, its simple: she wont play skivvy. No trading away her dignity, no performing acts of service for the sake of a brass ring.
She still chuckles about the chaps with the outrageous wish lists, but her laughter is steelier now. Shes done living someone elses fantasy for the sake of not dining alone.
So, Whats the Moral?
Ten dates dont count as failure. Theyre research, really. Homework in how to pickyourself, first and foremost.
Sue figured it out: being comfortable as you are is worth far more than providing endless room service in exchange for someones grunted appreciation.
Love doesnt keep a timetable. It shows up when you knowwithout questionthat anything less than mutual respect and genuine curiosity is simply off the table.
Time to learn to swipe differentlyand refuse the role of unpaid domestic assistant, whatever your age.
