Confessions of a Geezer Pleaser

I’m pretty much a walking billboard for plastic surgery.

Don’t believe me? I used to look like the ugly Kardashian sister and now I resemble something akin to Barbie, but only if she ate a lot of burgers and thought gray hair made her look “sassy”.

But hey- Lets take a closer look…

I’ve had 6 surgical revisions on various scars on my face. I’ve had a breast lift, a tummy tuck and hair plugs (which didn’t end up working, goddamnit).  I’ve also had my eyeliner permanently tattooed. I’m sure there’s something I’m forgetting, but I’ll remember it next time I look in the mirror.

Thing is, I never had any of this stuff done so as to appear attractive to the opposite sex. I had it done because I wanted to feel better about MYSELF. Not that I have a low self-esteem…I just recognize that there’s room for improvement. Besides, I’m 45 now and no sane woman actually wants to look 45. Unless she’s 65, cuz then you’ll do whatever it takes not to look like the Crypt Keeper.

Contrary to popular myth, 40 is not the new 30. Thirty year olds don’t even want to be 30. 30 is the new 20 and 45 is the new 12. You heard it here first.

I’ve spent THOUSANDS of dollars On microdermabrasion, chemical peels, manicures, laser hair removal, hair coloring, waxing and dermaplaning and since all my readers are men, I’m assuming you don’t understand what half that crap is, so let me just say they’re voodoo cures created by the sadists who run fashion magazines.

That’s right. Women are constantly being told that they’re NOT GOOD ENOUGH. And in my case, it happens to be true, but that’s another blog altogether. And no, I don’t have a low self-esteem, goddamnit.

My boyfriend is 14 years older than I am, which begs the question: Can men that old still rock the Casbah? Yes. Yes they can. They just need to hydrate beforehand and ice their joints afterward.

We often joke that when we go out, he looks like a total stud, while I look like his inappropriate, hyper-sexual granddaughter. And this is weird for many varied reasons, but mainly because we aren’t even the same skin tone.

Regardless, I have become a Trophy Girl. A geezer pleaser. Something to Brag About over a game of bridge and some lukewarm tea . Except that he doesn’t talk about me because he’s a gentleman…at least until my Casbah needs rocking (wink, wink).

The point of this tiresome digression is that I probably could have saved a ton of money by just getting an older boyfriend a long time ago. Why? Because to him, I’m an ego-boosting wet dream come to life. Guys my own age barely think I’m female. I think they just assume that I’m one of those transgender people who aren’t sure what gender they identify with, so they just claim to be a proper noun of some sort and call it a day. Regardless, they ain’t too excited about tuning up my 45 year old chassis.

Don’t misunderstand me- I wasn’t looking to be a grave-robbing hussy. He just sorta fell into my lap (ostensibly because he tripped on a sidewalk after a whippersnapper nudged him gently). If you had told me that I’d be schtupping someone’s grandfather someday, I’d have assumed you meant the father of my children. What I’m saying is that while I never imagined finding (or even LOOKING) for companionship in the geriatric aisle, now that I’ve found it, I can stop paying charlatans and Shamans to make me feel attractive.

And no, this man doesn’t lavish me with praise. He claims it’s a generational thing, but I’m convinced that he’s just lazy. And that’s okay. Most days I’m just happy that he doesn’t start his sentences with “When I was your age…”

I had plenty of opportunities to become a MILF to some Millenial of Indeterminate Age, but the thought of fucking a dude with a man-bun and a shaggy beard makes me want to retch into my decidedly NON-vegan coffee. Plus I think skinny jeans are for 5 year olds and I’m pretty sure they’re called “Garanimals”.

Young men profess to be sexual dynamos…and I suppose that may be true. There’s something to be said for raw energy and enthusiasm. Then again, I’m no spring chicken, plus I have a trick jaw and a bum knee, so I’m pretty useless after the matinee performance.

Logic would dictate that a younger man would make me feel even MORE desirable, but I think the opposite is true. The whole May-December romance thing is hyped up. It’s fine for me and my guy to trip the light fantastic because at least one of us comes out looking like a winner, even if the other one looks like the villain from a Lifetime movie about whores who prey on the elderly. When it comes to a younger man with an older woman, SHE looks desperate and HE looks like he has serious Mommy issues. And that’s just gross. No one wants to see that, including the two of them.

So here we sit, in our respective rocking chairs. He’s watching Matlock and I’m perusing fashion magazines. Eventually I’ll hand him a glass of warm milk and he’ll nod his head slowly, motion toward the bedroom, and fuck me like I stole his pension.

And that works just fine for me.