Page 36 of How to Date a Younger Man
“Mmm. And are you taking any steps to find someone?”
I snort. “Uh, taking steps feels like an understatement.”
Dr. Benson simply raises her eyebrows, prompting me to continue.
“I spend at least two hours a day reexamining what I’m looking for in a man. Practically every successful man over forty I meet, I see as a prospect, and do my best to win over while simultaneously slipping in casual-sounding questions about whether they’re single or if they want kids. I tried online dating for a while, but after too many awkward, stilted dates to count, I gave up on that front too. Although I did just hear about a new website that matches high-achieving singles over thirty-five, which, if I’m being honest, sounds depressing as hell. But, hey, I’m not in a position to be picky. I don’t know, I guess I’m just starting to think that I’m doomed to end up alone. Forever.”
Dr. Benson stares at me, her eyes wide and watching my face carefully, no longer glued to her notepad. She doesn’t say anything for a few beats, letting the weight of what I just shared hang in the air between us. “Is that all?” she finally asks, the sarcasm in her voice hard to miss.
“I know it sounds like a lot, but I don’t know what else to do.”
“How about having a little fun?”
“What do you mean?”
Dr. Benson smiles softly, setting her notepad to the side and leaning forward to rest her elbows on her knees. “Layne, it’s clear that finding a good match is very important to you. But I think that in taking your search so seriously, you’ve somehow managed to suck every ounce of fun out of dating.”
I look away, staring instead at the motivational poster on the wall of a turtle climbing up a hill, totally at a loss for how to respond. “I have fun,” I murmur defensively, crossing one leg over the other.
“When’s the last time you let loose? It sounds like you spend all day micromanaging every aspect of your life. Do you leave any room for the unexpected?”
“Well, I’d argue that every man I date who turns out to be a dud or an asshole is unexpected.”
“That may be,” she replies, leaning back in her chair and giving me a knowing look. “But all I’m saying is that it might do you some good to remember what it’s like to enjoy yourself again. All work and no play is a recipe for loneliness and depression, no matter how good you are at your job.”
Nodding slowly, I keep staring at the damn turtle poster on the wall, pressing my lips together as tears sting the corners of my eyes. Dammit, I hate it when she’s right.
“I don’t see how having fun is going to make anything better. It just seems like a waste of time at this point.”
“It might not always feel like it, but you’re still young, with plenty of life ahead of you. Take it from me. Switching up your routine might be good for you. You never know what’s out there until you stop looking for it.”
With Dr. Benson’s parting words ringing in my head, we say our good-byes and I gather my things, my mind spinning during the whole drive home. It’s not like she’s never given me direct advice before, but damn, you know your life is depressing when your sixty-five-year-old therapist tells you to go out and get laid.
Okay, maybe she didn’t say anything about getting laid. But, let’s be real. It was implied.
When I get home, I flop down on the couch, racking my brain for something fun and unexpected that I could do tonight. The clubs I used to frequent in my twenties are out of the question. I highly doubt I’ll find my soul mate in the middle of a neon-lit dance floor, trying to escape the sweaty, unsolicited bodies rubbing up against my backside. The mere thought of it sends grossed-out chills down my spine.
For as much anxiety as my age gives me, I’m definitely glad to not be in that phase of my life anymore. Then again, here I am, trying to decide what bar to hit up and which outfit will best accentuate my curves while still holding everything in.
As if on cue, my phone buzzes, and I pick it up to find a text from Kristen, inviting me to drinks with the crew tonight. Well, inviting isn’t quite the right word. More like demanding.
For a second, I wonder if she’s working for Dr. Benson. The timing is just too perfect.
But before I can let myself go down that paranoid rabbit hole, I force myself to shake it off. It’s one thing to be single at my age. If I start suspecting that everyone trying to help me is out to get me, it’s a slippery slope to adopting twenty cats and never leaving my home again.
