Been noticing an interesting phenomenon lately. I find that after years of conditioning, I am finally not caring when good looking, interesting men are around me. Remember when we were in grade school and went through that whole “is he looking at me?” thing, and this became the blueprint for all of our male/female interactions from that point on? How we somehow learned to subtly flirt, to be “aware” of this person’s presence across a room like a heat seeking missile, to make eye contact, to smile, to use our body language to let the person know we’re interested, and then thrill when we see that person exhibiting interest in us? Remember that fun mating dance? The one that usually resulted in nothing but on rare occasion was actually the start of a relationship? That one? Well, yeah, that dance is officially over for me. And let me tell you, it feels great.
It actually has been kind of ending for a while – ever since entering my late thirties I started to get this feeling like I was sick of having to parade around like a piece of meat to get some man’s attention; it just seemed pathetic and, well, beneath me. Now I know every romantic comedy since the beginning of time involves a woman with just this take on life – “I’m smart, I don’t have to wear short skirts and flip my hair to get a man,” – and then, surprise! It turns out you DO have to do those things to “get a man”, and she does, and it works. However, let me remind you for the millionth time that romantic comedies are completely full of shit. So some years ago I started covering up. This isn’t to say I’m some frump and I have no pride in my appearance – it just means I don’t feel the need to be a sex object.
Then once I came upon this whole single mother thing last fall it really started to change me – not needing a man to knock you up suddenly means you don’t have that radar up every time you leave the house. I don’t always have to be on the lookout for that (hopefully) single, (hopefully) straight aging hipster guy who just might be emotionally healthy enough for an actual relationship (this guy doesn’t exist, by the way). I truly believe that coming upon a plan to have my own children regardless of relationship status changed the chemistry of my brain and made me behave differently in public. Not that I was ever a flirt or a blatant chaser of men (well, not since I was very, very young). But there was always that drive to make eye contact, to get someone’s attention, to spark something. Every person alive has this; it’s what makes us human. But you know what? When it’s useless to you you start to see it for what it really is – just an ancient, knee-jerk “I need to procreate NOW” chemical reaction from our caveman days. And in my current status this is especially pointless.
Over the weekend I found myself starting up that little “is he looking at me?” dance and then had to catch myself. You’re pregnant, for chrissakes! Not to mention ten years older than this guy, and he’s no doubt in a relationship, and lives in another country, and would never be interested in you in a million, billion years. I’m almost 40 years old and carrying a stranger’s baby. And I’m wondering if some young hot guy is looking at me. Seriously? Seriously. I just had to laugh at myself. Old habits die hard, I guess. But the good news is they are dying.
Many times since last November I’ve caught myself at Trader Joe’s or whatever on the lookout for good looking guys and have to remind myself, what the heck are you doing? They’re NOT looking at you, trust me. They don’t care. And sure enough their wife or girlfriend comes around the corner with a stroller.
And it’s a relief to be out of that dance. It’s a relief to not have to present myself in a certain way in the hopes of achieving some kind of attention that I’m not going to get. Let’s face it, that stuff is a young girl’s game. Pregnant or not it would be over for me by now anyway. I know a couple of older women who still prance around like young girls and it makes me cringe. It’s not so much the clothing or the youthful approach to life – I mean, do what you want – but the seeking of male approval that turns my stomach.
I think this is a lot of the reason that at the moment I have no fear about my body changing. I mean I have no intention of “letting myself go” or losing all personal pride and dignity, but I don’t really care if I don’t look so great for a while. I don’t have to keep some man sexually interested in me, so who cares? My kid is going to love me no matter what size I am. I’m not here for the visual pleasure of men, screw ‘em. My experience has been 75% of them are impotent anyway from years of jerking off to internet porn.
One of my favorite comics, Louis CK, does a bit about being old and fat and married and what a relief it is that he doesn’t have to suck in his gut anymore when cute women walk by. He says now he can just mentally give them the finger and think, “f- you, you can go sleep with some other guy, I can go home and jerk off to you later and probably have a better time.” I think that pretty much sums it up.
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