Middle-Aged Dating…

When I say “Middle-Aged Dating” I am not talking about the time period, rather one’s age when they are dating. I have started lamenting on my age, and I know I’m not old, but I am technically single. I have a boyfriend, we are in a committed relationship – nearly 10 years, but we are not married – so I still have to check the single box on forms.

I run into all sorts of characters on the train. I will probably say this numerous times on this blog.

Today I happened to take an earlier train, filled with regular riders that know all about each other. I am part of one of those groups, but not on this particular train. This one is filled with middle aged women on their way to work, somewhere in LA.

A couple of stops after I get on, two women sit across from me, one whispers to the other:

Married: so how was your date?
Filipina: He was handsome, nice, smart, employed
Married: So? Are you going to see him again?
Filipina: He doesn’t believe in God.
Married: And? That was a turn off?
Filipina: He doesn’t believe in God. Yeah that’s a turn off, I’m not going to marry a man who doesn’t believe in God.

(they had one date…one! And she’s not going to marry him. Please. That’s why women get bad raps, because of women like her – who even thinks of getting married to someone after barely even knowing them…grrrr)

Married: Is that important? Are you religious?
Filipina: It is important, no I’m not but still – he should believe in something.

…silence…

Married: but that isn’t what relationships are about, it is about if he cares about you, respects your opinions.

(I can tell Married is betrothed by the ring on her finger. )

Married: At least you are getting out.
Filipina: Yeah, I used to date a lot.

( Clearly that is a lie. I’m eavesdropping and I can tell this is a lie. )

Filipina: Not only is he agnostic, but he was coming on strong. He even called me to make sure I got home okay. I haven’t dated in 8 years, since my son was born and he’s 8. You know his father left me when I was 3 months pregnant.

Ugh. I never want to be one of these train gossipy women discussing my retarded love life. Or those older women that get painted up and stroll into bars and clubs hunting for the next young thing to walk by.

Oh, and apparently she doesn’t like tattoos, men that want to talk on the phone, or really anyone with a personality.

I need to find a new seat.
I will never take the early train again.