Recently we were out for dinner with the Bahamians at one of the better local restaurants. As we enjoyed our meal, a 60ish woman who knew our friends from years before stopped by our table to say hello to them.
The woman was wearing a skin-tight black mini-dress that ended about six inches above her kneecaps, with an exposed shoulder and stiletto heels. It was the kind of skimpy, clingy outfit that demanded a supermodel’s figure, and this woman didn’t have one. It obviously wasn’t a comfortable ensemble for her, either. Throughout our brief interaction at the table, she was tugging the dress up toward her exposed shoulder, and tugging it down at her hem, trying to limit the overexposure of her permatanned flesh.
So why was this middle-aged woman wearing an ill-fitting garment that looked like it was hard for her to take a breath? She explained that she had gotten divorced and was out on a date with a new guy, and made some rueful observation about how the dating world was tough for people our age. Then her date appeared at the doorway and she went teetering unsteadily away, adjusting her dress, again, and touching up her bleached blonde hairdo.
It was an awkward moment. Kish and I didn’t know the woman, but we immediately felt both sorry for her and . . . confused. Sorry for her, because she looked ridiculous and miserable, and confused, because she apparently recognized that fact and elected to wear an outfit that wasn’t close to being age-appropriate, anyway. Evidently she was desperate for male attention, but did she really think that wearing something that left nothing to the imagination was the way to achieve that goal? Her outfit seemed to say a lot about her confidence in her personality and other attributes and about her sense of what middle-aged men are looking for on a date — neither of which was positive.
It was a depressing encounter on a lot of levels. It made me appreciate, once again and for countless reasons, how very lucky I am to be happily married.