Dating at 62 (Mopping & Moping)

Steven Douglas Baughman

I don’t know how. I’d thought I’d been on only one date in my life, but on further reflection realized that if I really stretched the definition, I’ve been on nine. Over the last 46 years. Not a lot of practice.

Horrible nighttime date, arranged by my grandparents (I was 16). Day hanging out at the house with someone I had no interest in, arranged by her parents (17). Short making out date (“I’m not fucking any more virgins.”) arranged by her mom (17). Inexcusable behavior on my part date at the movies, arranged by my best friend (19). A party at her place where I lost my virginity on arrival (20-23). Hanging out with a teenager (these weren’t really dates) who was trying to prove how adult she was (23). Dinner and beer with maybe the love of my life (23-31). Horrible nighttime date with a friend’s sister (26, oops). Spur of the moment midnight breakfast with massive crush and future wife (32-present).

Now my wife and I have an open marriage, at her request. And I suppose that I’m supposed to go on another supposed date, supposing I can locate a woman of my own age in a small town which is jam-packed with already-married women with political and religious views opposed to mine.

Good luck to me.