Sixties Chick

My dog Rio and I go out to the field behind my house and from time to time we get into a game of retrieve the stick. My throw’s never been all that good, but Rio doesn’t care; he bolts after it with a sense of purpose that’s enviable. He grabs it with that wondrous mouth of his, sometimes in mid-air, and then dashes back to where I’m standing. He won’t drop the stick, however. Refuses; that is until I throw another one.

It’s not that I haven’t tried to teach him. “Look Rio,” I’d say enunciating slowly, trying to explain to him how it works, “You drop the stick; I throw it again.” But it was no use; if he understood, he simply wasn’t interested in playing my way. I’d give in. It was easier.

From time to time, I try again when there’s no other stick in sight. But Rio won’t budge. He’s nine and clearly not changing. Like my friend the dog trainer told me in no uncertain terms, “Forget it. He’s too old.”

Lately, I’ve been wondering the same about myself.

I ask, because recently my daughter took it upon herself to sign me up for an on-line dating service, convinced that it was time for me to get myself out there anew, into the ever-challenging world of relationship trawling. When I balked, she came up with a whole litany of rather wise-sounding reasons why I should at least try. Adventure, fun; what’s there to lose? After all, why not? And I, ever vigilant to root out anything inside me that smacks of resistance, agreed.

Almost immediately, a number of prospects pop up in my in-box, willing candidates with monikers such as notyetsixfeetunder, ultimateman, imallyours007, mikewiththebike, manbatt and loverofgreatlegs. Almost immediately, I doubt my ability to see this “adventure” through.

“Are you a boater? Do you golf? An Eagles fan?” The questions come embedded in messages of every sort.

“No,” I respond, feeling a distinct unwillingness wash over me. I’m clearly not in the mood for this. Will I ever be?  I want to counter with my own questions, ones that seem more pertinent and to the point, something like, “So tell me, what are the parts of yourself you keep hidden from view? The ones you’re not so proud of? Your shadow, as they say.”

Twenty-nine-year-old, EnerGizerboy, shows up to ask, “Hey, are you into younger men?” And, I (purely out of curiosity, of course) find myself compelled to write back, to ask why a man of his age would be interested in a woman of mine. “For great sex,” he responds candidly, sharing that his last lover – at sixty—was the best he’d ever known. And here I thought it was my fortune he was after!

Lazydad wants to know if I play poker. Wineguy — what else — the kind of wine I prefer. 2findu sends me a virtual teddy bear with points he’s actually paid good money for.

Are you kidding me? Who’s got the patience for this? What do you say we go with my line of questioning instead: “What still pushes your buttons and why? Who do you become when times get tough? What demons still lurk down deep inside? If you’re willing to come clean, I can save us both a lot of time and trouble.

Yeah, sure, I know all about the “dance” and how it calls for a degree of subtlety, a modicum of finesse. But at this age, don’t you think the moves have to be crisp and clear, nothing if not intentional?  That’s how I want to tango.

A friend of mine says I’m too intense.  He’s probably right. It’s why, most likely, I won’t be finding a mate any time soon.  I’m reminded of Rio who always plays the game his way. Like Rio, I’m too old for it any other way.

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