I am not actually dating a senior citizen. I also do not care one bit if anyone is—and what their age gaps may be in comparison with their partner. Why should I poke my nose into anyone else’s business just so I can give my opinion on something that has nothing remotely to do with myself? But truth be told, I am involved with someone who, each and every day, makes me start wondering if it’s getting to that time of their life where I may soon need to sign them up for AARP and start talking about life insurance policies. They’re roughly 30 years away from needing any of these things, but sometimes their mannerisms make people around them ponder if they’re talking to their grandpa or not. Let us go into some details about what I mean by this, shall we? After reading this article, if this type of person doesn’t seem right for you, maybe get off of that oldermen-lookingfor-younger.com website, take a long look at yourself, and wonder if you yourself are not this old man.
Going out to eat or drink takes twice as long as it ever did when I was alone. Being a proud reclusive-domestic house raccoon, I enjoy not taking too much time when doing things. It allows me more time to do more of the nothing I was busy with at my house. But, this old man now causes my order to take twice the amount of time, which makes my eyes go wide, a sigh to occur, and a "this-happens-everywhere-thank-you-for-your-patience" to slip out of my mouth to the kind server or barista. The old man will say something like "Uh....one more minute.....Oh, that’s new! What’s your opinion on fill-in-the-blank? I think I’ll...just...get...finally, fill in the blank of what they are ordering." It’s a lot more fun if you can put a crowd of people in the back of us. Time means nothing to the elderly. They seem to have nothing but time left, so that’s what you will now be giving them: time and great amounts of...patience.
The fact that I may indeed be dating a senior citizen was brought to my attention by a best friend of mine when we were visiting Missouri. We went out to eat, and my old man decided it would be worth mentioning to the waitstaff where he was from ("Fabulous Las Vegas Nevada"), what his life experiences were in great generalness, and to make sure to let the cooks know how much we enjoyed the food. My friend and I were already outside the door, down the steps, just to see if he’d notice. Five minutes went by, and he hadn’t; she asked, "Did you know you were dating a senior citizen?" as we both watched him continue talking about all of his life experiences. As I mentioned earlier, you will give them nothing if not all your time, and in some cases, your ears as well.
Now, I used to pride myself on having excellent hearing, to the point where people started to realize that "sneaking one by me" just wasn’t gonna happen. Concerts have happened since then; age has snuck in there a bit, I think, but out of all of these things life has given, it doesn’t compare to the dependability of the decibels produced when my old man is just talking. It might be a Las Vegas thing, it might just be a dick thing, but I really think it’s just them not being able to hear themselves anymore and needing to be consistently sure that whomever they are speaking with can adequately hear them. I can, and so can the rest of the restaurant. Sometimes I try to remind them that I’m not deaf by saying things like, "You’re extremely loud," or "Are you talking to me or everyone else here?" They’ll pout for a second, alter their volume switch for two minutes, and then it’s back to eleven. Loud conversations will never not be a thing now. It’s just how it is. Roll with it, or get some earplugs.
Will be asked again. And probably a subsequent time after that. A good analogy for this would be to say that this person thinks that by opening the fridge up a second or third time that day, will magically cause it to replace the juice you were wanting but finished the day before, or you’ll suddenly remember what it was you were digging in there for, to begin with. Currently, we are waiting on the results for our dog to come back, which will tell us what kind of possum it is. And until I get results saying otherwise, this dog is a possum or some sort of hyena-possum hybrid. Don’t ask how that would work—I don’t know.
Anyways, I am asked six times a day, at least, "Do we know what kind of dog Bob is, yet?" I just tell them, "hyena." They do not like this answer, but that’s what I have for them so far. And that’s what I’ll have for them in 20 minutes. I’ll probably not even tell them when I do know otherwise because they’re grinding my tiny patience on this. But the old man won’t forget to ask. So I’ll keep saying the same answer. And on and on it will go, until the rest of forever, or I tell them what the possum-hyena dog we have actually is.
Ladies, gents, and all you fine, foxy people out there, this is what dating a senior citizen is like. And if it doesn’t sound like your cup of tea, that’s because it probably isn’t. No one wants to be old or feel like they’re with their grandparent, but I am. Thankfully, I’m with the fun one, though, and we still have a blast eating donuts and taking road trips. We just have to add an extra 20 minutes to each stop to allow them to stretch their legs and talk to someone around—anyone around—who will listen to them talk about their dog or where they could find the best cup of coffee 20 years ago. The place just isn’t there anymore.
Hannah One Cup is an at-home caregiver to her elderly partner. She has one arm in a sling, but that doesn’t stop her from slingin’ glares or sighs when her patience runs thin. You can find her in line somewhere, waiting on the "old man" to order his coffee. He’ll probably just get the same thing he always does after twenty minutes of indecision while Hannah takes one of the calling cards from the bulletin board advertising..."Adventures for Grandpa. Mobile outings to keep them spry." You can also find her on Facebook by her name and on TikTok @thursdaynight_depression.