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Facing widowhood at 47 was bad enough. But diving back into the dating pool after 50 was nothing short of daunting.
I could not imagine ever marrying again — and certainly had no interest in dating.
But a friend from church gave me hell for still wearing my wedding rings three years after my husband died.
She reminded me that, technically, I was no longer married.
When she didn’t let up, I relented. I put the rings in my jewelry box and gave serious thought to taking the plunge into online dating.
After more than two decades with the same man, there were certain things I’d gotten used to, as well as certain things I’d taken for granted:
- We shared the same politics and belief in higher education
- We both were hard-working with good jobs
- We adored our respective in-laws
We really were a good match.
He made no demands on me as far as how I spent money, who I socialized with, or how I dressed. He wasn’t the least bit bothered that my sleeping attire had gone from the wedding peignoir to a flannel nightgown in just a matter of months. (Winters in Iowa can be cruel.)
And then there was my body. What began as a flattering size 12 on the day of my wedding quietly transcended from Misses to Plus before we’d even celebrated our 10th anniversary.
My husband loved me unconditionally and never said a word about my weight, and even went so far as to say he liked “big girls.” God love him.
So, donning my virtual Plus-sized bathing suit, I dove in.
Testing the waters
Step #1 with online dating was looking at the competition. So I ran my search posing as a man looking for a woman, 45 – 55 years old, within 20 miles of my zip code.
Imagine my surprise when the first profile that popped up was someone I knew!
She was a tax accountant who regularly ran ads in the local newspaper. I considered her a “public figure.” On first blush, I thought she might be a serious competitor.
As I continued reading, I wasn’t sure what to think. Hers was a less-than-discreet online dating write-up as far as I was concerned. Right there, in the first paragraph: “…in search of a younger man who can keep up with me in the bedroom.” Whoa! She included 3 photos that included a:
- Professional headshot
- Picture of herself with her mother
- PICTURE OF HER IN A BLACK LACE TEDDY!
Was this really what I was up against?
Entering the shallow end
Step #2 was running the search as a woman looking for a man in my age and geographic range, just to get an idea of what male prospects might be “swimming in my pool.”
That was a wee bit more encouraging, based on the photos and profiles I saw on first glance. I decided I was willing to go to the next step and head for the deep end.
My first lap around the pool
Step #3 was creating my own profile. Attempting to capture all that is “me” in one or two short paragraphs is not as easy as it sounds.
- How much do I reveal about myself?
- Should I be honest about what a Guerilla Grammarian I am?
- Does it matter that my drink of choice is a cup of coffee?
- Dare I admit that I hate football, especially in Iowa Hawkeye football country?
- How do I really sell myself so I’ll get picked instead of Victoria the Tax Accountant who clearly had no secrets?
After grueling over just exactly what to write, I settled for something fairly middle of the road.
I did not mention I was a weekly church attender, lest I end up with a conservative Holy Roller.
I did include my appreciation for international cuisine, knowing that anyone turned off by foreign food would not enjoy Pho Ga at Phong Lan like I did.
It made sense for me to include that I’d been previously married, albeit widowed, so my matches would know I’d already been through relationship boot camp.
I included one photo — a headshot with good lighting, sans boa or black lace.
Then the waiting game began. I was like Pavlov’s dog, waiting for the You’ve Got Mail ding of the computer. Literally within one hour, there were 11 inquiries and not one lived in Iowa, let alone the U.S.
Was this some algorithm that connected international men of mystery with available women in the U.S.?
More likely, it was some desperate chaps looking for Green Cards. I deleted them all and moved on.
Did I end up with any real prospects? Yes. After screening them via email and phone conversation, I went on some dates. For each of those dates I chose the same local soul food restaurant where my fave server, Kat, could offer her observations after the fact.
But even the ones I met in person really were duds. Two of them drove pick-up trucks. (Note to self: Should have mentioned I drove a Prius and asked what they drive.)
Another had said in his profile he was divorced, but in reality he was just recently separated.
One of them dropped his pill case on the floor of the restaurant and out spilled two Advils and a Viagra.
Obviously the sweet potato pie was not what he had in mind for dessert.
Dating after 50 is … a lot like dating before 50
After those forays into the deep end, I dried off and stayed poolside for the next few months.
Slowly I began venturing out solo, attending concerts, lectures and political gatherings.
I stayed connected with close friends and that’s where I found success.
I attended a meet-the-candidate coffee where I met a work colleague of the hostess. He had a wicked sense of humor, drove a Chevy compact and asked if I would be willing to have lunch sometime.
Two weeks later we met for lunch, where we talked for five hours. We were married four years later.
The moral of my tale of dating after 50? Friends don’t let friends date online.
