Whilst, as you (my regular readers) will know, I normally don’t miss an opportunity to denigrate pointless and unworthy pseudo-scientific research surveys, I’m afraid the news that Italian researchers – and of course it would take amorous Italians to chose such a delectable subject – have found an excuse (sorry, reason) why “Men Fall in Love at 50” gladdens my heart.
Why? Because I have a BIG THING for older men…
I’m not talking just slightly older here, but seriously geriatric. When “The Professionals” was the top TV show and every teenage girl had a crush on either Bodie or Doyle, I wasn’t mooning over Martin Shaw or Lewis Collins. Oh no. Gordon Jackson, the boss-master, was the man for me.
I’m not really quite sure when my preference for older men started or why (who can rationalise love?) or whether it’s because my dad was 13 years older than my mum?
When I was 19 I fell in love with a man who was 43, and when I was 26 I found myself smitten with another 43 year old chap (43 is such a nice age, don’t you think?). Then last year at the grand old age of 30 (something) I finally fell for a 50 (something) man – the only trouble being that this time he was married (natch). The first two at least had the decency to be separated or on their way to getting divorced before I met them.
Although, admittedly, the first chap broke my 19-year-old heart (not to mention the theories of the research scientists) by running off with an older woman – not just older than me – older than him! (How dare he?) Didn’t he know he was “genetically programmed” to look for a younger bit of stuff?
The good news for the Zimmer-frame-chasers amongst us is that older men have many advantages. Whilst they may well be attracted to you – a (somewhat) younger woman – unlike their younger counterparts most mature men don’t expect a stick insect, beauty queen or physical perfection. (Except Michael Douglas.) Also, having been married before (and most of them will have been) they already appreciate the comfort and security of marriage and like and respect women. You won’t find them at the bar with a crowd of unctuous mates bad-mouthing you (or women in general) behind your back: indeed, you’ll have a job to prevent them from singing your praises from the rooftops all day, every day (adoration is a wonderful thing).
On a practical level, they are nearly always more domesticated than skinny young men (who you can just tell haven’t had a decent meal in months because they don’t know how to cook one), don’t live in cloud cuckoo land believing dusting does itself and that toilet rolls and other consumables are automatically self re-regenerating. Best of all, they don’t think that PMT is a curse from Planet Zog and will do their best to humour you and
sympathise with you at that time of the month. (After all, this is probably the second time they’ve been through it all and if their ex is menopausal, they will of course be flattered and delighted that you’re still fertile, no matter what it entails.)
And, finally, though you may occasionally be asked if you are with your father, your wonderful older man will never be mistaken for your brother.