"Meet Other Senior Singles"
That was the subject line on an email I spotted in my spam box today. It's not that I'm surprised to be getting "singles" junk mail despite being married for over a year; I think it's unrealistic to expect spammers to keep up with my marital status. I mean, they don't seem to understand that I do not have a penis (roughly 75% of my spam messages are about my non-existent one), so why should they know I'm not single anymore?
No... it's the OTHER "S" word that really got my attention... and my wrath. SENIOR?????? WTF? In what alternate reality does being 48 qualify me as being a senior?
Bad enough that just the other day, our photographer neighbor was doing a shoot and there were these two 18 or 19-year-old male models out in our courtyard (and at least one of them was even straight), and when Georges kidded around about me possibly flirting with them, I said: "Do you realize that I am 30 years OLDER than they are? That is officially TOO OLD for me to even THINK about flirting. That would be like... like... EWW!" Because seriously? His oldest boy is 20 and my own nephew is 22, and that means I'm old enough to be the MOTHER of those models, and therefore the "ICK" factor is just too huge. I'm all, like, don't EVEN go there, because "there" is now a line that should just never be crossed. There are some things that are just undignified for a woman over 40; you know, like wearing very short skirts.
So, OK, I got over the fact that flirting with young guys is just unacceptable "at my age" [not that I'd ever do that, Georges]. I accept the fact that I will have to color my hair for the rest of my life, my skin is now so dry that no amount of cream and lotion can restore it to youthfulness, and that my breasts are heading south at a rather alarming rate. But do the spammers have to throw it in my face that I'm now flirting with turning 50 instead of with boys? Will I now start getting spam messages hyping the benefits of Geritol? Adult diapers? Denture cream? Prune juice? Offers for membership in the AARP (American Association of Retired Persons)? I can see the handwriting on the wall... or rather, I could see it, if I had my reading glasses.
Those spamming bitches. I hope someone slips a laxative into their morning coffee.
