Models of A Certain Age

imagesSince spring made a sudden cameo, Camille, Joanne and I are at an outdoor cafe sipping lattes strategically seated next to a table filled with young hotties.

“Camille, just once, can’t we relax like the three tired women over fifty we are without having to exert our flirt muscles?”

“Haven’t you ever heard, use it or lose it?”

“Weight, that’s about weight,” said Joanne, “read that in O Magazine.”

“Who asked you?” said Camille.

“Look at them,” I said, watching them eat, their mouths wide open like big baby birds. “They’re in their twenties, and we know what that means?”

“That they won’t pick up our check?” said Joanne.

“That we’ll have nothing in common, therefore, what’s the point?”

“Speak for yourself,” snapped Camille. “I have lots in common with any man, even if you don’t think so.”

That said…

Through trial and error I’ve learned younger men are not for me. I simply haven’t the patience. I have no desire to have sex like I’m being drilled for oil, and conversationally, they haven’t lived long enough to be interesting to me. Plus, they’re always hungry. The last younger man, and I mean the last, I had a little tryst with cost me a fortune. All I did was cook because according to him, sex sure works up an appetite. Where I needed a nap, he required pancakes.

I watched Camille, despite all I said, spin into action.

“Excuse me, “she said in that wispy Jackie O voice she overuses, “what’s that you’re having…looks like a tart.”

“Yeah, it’s apple,” said the guy sitting nearest to her.

“What else would a man order but a good old fashioned tart,” cooed Camille.

Of course he didn’t get the joke…tarts, men…sexual innuendo. A man in his fifties, even forties, would have picked that up like a twenty lying on the sidewalk. I loved his answer though.

“I really wanted the blueberry crumb but they’re out of it.”

Camille wasn’t giving up that easily. “So, what do you boys do besides look good enough to eat?” If she undid her blouse and sat on a plate she wouldn’t have been more obvious, but again, our pubescent titans hardly noticed.

“We work at Morgan Stanley,” said blueberry crumb. “Where do you all work?”

Here comes her trump card frayed at the edges. “We’re models, so we work all over the world.”

Yeah, like twenty years ago, but kept this to myself.

“Models, really? I never would have guessed that.”

“And why might that be?” bristled Camille. See, I knew the answer to this. Kate Moss looks like a model to them, images-2 not three girls…one with a droopy chin the other two sporting foreheads that don’t move.

“Don’t take this wrong,” he said like he was talking to his mom, “but aren’t you kinda old?”

OOPS..the O word.

“Maybe you need glasses. We’re anything but old honey.”

“Camille, let’s just finish our coffee and let this nice group of boys finish theirs.”

“We’re not boys…I just turned thirty on Wednesday,” said the blonde in a light blue button-down who all during this compelling repartee picked his cute little nose.

That alone should have sent for the check.

If you ask me, this age thing on all fronts is out of hand. Camille pretends she’s younger, this kid wants to be older.

I’m fine with just being the age I am. As Katharine Hepburn once said… images-1 there’s nothing you can do about getting olda so why botha thinking about it.

I’m with you Kate.

Of course some of us would disagree.

Between Botox, tummy tucks and the art of lying, who says you can’t be thirty-five forever…

Camille, that’s who.

SB

Advertisements

About Susannah Bianchi

I'm just a girl who likes to write slightly on slant. I've had a career in fashion, dabbled in film and to be honest, I don't like talking about myself. Now my posts are another matter so I will let them speak for themselves. My eBooks, A New York Diary, Model Behavior: Friends For Life and Notes From A Working Cat can be found on Amazon.com. Thanks.
This entry was posted in Beauty, humor, New York City, sex, Uncategorized, Women and men and tagged , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

27 Responses to Models of A Certain Age

  1. Age is pretty relative. Two of my elementary students almost gasped at how old I was when I said I was 35. To them 20 is practically middle-aged. It’s all about how old you feel. I’ve known octogenarians who were more youthful in spirit than a lot of teenagers.

    Like

  2. skinnyuz2b says:

    Susannah, age is certainly relative. I just posted a story about surprising behavior by my ‘old’ parents who were in their thirties at the time. When I turned thirty I thought I had begun middle age. And now I consider thirty to be young. Very young.

    Like

    • Seventy seems young Skinny. Just saw a guy I hadn’t seen and he looked amazing…plays tennis every day…golfs in Florida. He was very attractive…his Missus should watch out…it’s wild out there.

      Like

  3. I’m with you. Honestly, my dabbling was really more about feeling flattered than really thinking or believing that I could really spend any real time swimming in that pool. I am trying to embrace my age but I am just not secure enough even if by some strange chance he ‘got me’ to be with someone that much younger than I am πŸ˜‰

    Like

    • It’s like having a son with special privileges. That came out a little creepy, but you know what I mean. I like a man who can teach me something…even if it’s just a fact about the Civil War I don’t know. Sexually, I can lecture so I’m never looking for a tutorial there. The model’s life is an education all by itself.

      Like

  4. Jeanette Hamilton says:

    Camille just can’t give it a rest, can she? Although I would find her annoying to be around, I have to admire that can-do attitude. As for younger men, I’m not attracted to them for all the reasons you listed. Still it does my 60 plus heart good when a younger guy flirts with me. Doesn’t happen every day or every week but when it does, it makes my day a little brighter.

    Like

    • Point well taken…a wink and a smile is one thing…eggs over easy are another…some women can’t give it a rest. I think Camille is afraid if she shuts off her motor even at a traffic light, it won’t start up again. Just a theory.

      Like

  5. micklively says:

    No-one really knows what time is, so why bother trying to count it? πŸ˜‰
    Great piece Susannah.

    Like

  6. A couple springs ago, we went camping with a neighborhood family. One of the girls and I took a walk. We started talking about being old. I asked how old she was, she proudly said, 7. I looked at her and simply said, I am 50 years older than you. She looked panicked like she needed to find a rocking chair and cane for me. Then we both laughed and continued our walk. Age is nothing, it is a number, I still feel young inside. Great post! Thanks.

    Like

  7. katecrimmins says:

    Never liked younger men myself for all the same reasons you stated. While the aging process isn’t kind to the body it does wonders for the mind. You care less about a lot of things and you know more stuff. You aren’t as naΓ―ve either. Loved your comment, “like a twenty lying on the sidewalk.” I just love your descriptions. They are so….ummmm….descriptive.

    Like

    • Thank you…yes..when I was younger life was one big buffet…now..forget it. A man has to be pretty fascinating to get me to take him over a book. What can I say…you’re right…age does wonders for the mind, what’s left of it πŸ™‚

      Like

  8. Patricia says:

    One day at work I met the wife of a doctor I had seen and told her how I liked him and that he was so cute. My co-workers were aghast….Patricia!!!!. I said it was ok because I am probably older than his mother and can say what I think. His wife thought it was ok, too. I like looking but have no interest in buying. I think Camille is kinda sad.

    Like

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s