Please note: this piece contains strong language
Mouth open, word stuttering, heart racing, delighted. Flattered, scared, brain doing a disbelieving tarantella of thoughts. Walking outside, clutching the till receipt with a huge, shit-eating grin from ear to ear.
Looking like a right idiot, smile stuck permanently, face aching with happiness.
What just happened? Did that just happen?
Trying to get my face to behave, I look again, at my till receipt, and sure enough, there it is, his phone number.
What do I do?? This is all new to me, a widow for the past 8 years. Just moved to this area a few months ago, partly for health reasons, to be nearer family, and because of medication, 5 stone heavier! Glad to be alive, not glad about weight gain!
How can anyone ask me out?
I replay in my mind, for what must be the 500th time in 10 minutes, the conversation.
‘Are you married?’
‘No, widowed.’
‘Give me your till receipt, this is my phone number, if you would like to go for a coffee, phone me.’
All said in a beautifully sexy, Spanish accented voice. And I only went out to buy yoghurt! 24 hours later, still grinning like a lunatic, I make the phone call. Still unable to believe that an accidental bump and subsequent little conversation has led to this, a date for coffee, locally, in the early afternoon. All goes well, have lovely coffee date, and agree to meet later in week for dinner. Then, uh-oh, chance remark and I realise this man is much, much younger than I thought. I did think he was a few years my junior, but not this many!
So, I cancelled the dinner date. A very upset and annoyed man, insisting age was irrelevant, but I was quite adamant and also very upset, because I had really enjoyed his company. But I also felt like a hypocrite. My late husband was 20 years older than me and I never gave it a second thought.
Now, with a role-reversal, I ran away. I spent a thoroughly miserable fortnight and lost 6.5 lbs in weight, before hearing my name being called in the street. My lovely Spanish man was at the cash machine and came running after me and asked me out again. I said yes! Big, shit-eating grin stuck on my face once more.
Talk about everything in your favour being against you. On the day he was to phone, I had gone with a friend to do the Glasgow Central Station tour then come home to find the air conditioning guys waiting to do their annual service. I was forced to have an attempted romantic phone call, arranging our dinner date, with engineers hearing every word.
Now, 16 months later, and 4 stones lighter, there has been much laughter, a few tears (caused by external circumstances, not by either of us), language miscommunications, little thoughtful gifts, big extravagant gestures, and much, much joy. My big, shit-eating grin has never really left my face. But now, when plans could have been put in place, we have Covid-19, the dreadful coronavirus. We have not seen each other for 8 weeks as I am in the “high risk” category.
So, the future, what do I wish for? What will be the best outcome? The wonderful scenario of walking off into the sunset of life with a beautiful lover, 24 years younger, who lights up my day, is like everything else at the moment: on hold.
Lots of wishful thinking, dreaming, no planning. How can you make plans? Life goes on, talking through, the internet, WhatsApp, texting, FaceTime. Time for reflection enforced. Things that seemed important no longer matter. The little things that are so missed: a hug, a real life smile, a little gift, given and received. A shared meal, a sunny walk, blethering about everything and nothing.
Values have changed, for the better, I believe. Unexpected kindnesses from unexpected quarters and one or two unexpected shocks with people flouting lockdown rules quite blatantly. Sensible people, who have always been seen as stalwarts of the community, meeting in each other’s’ homes for coffee or going for walks together. Selfish in their arrogance as they risk carrying Covid-19 to others. All this turmoil enforces my belief that life is very short and happiness should be grabbed with both hands and a big heart.
What does an age difference of 24 years matter if you are compatible in all you do and say and think? How often do any of us get the chance to walk about with an inner sparkle of happy contentment? To know they are loved and cared for.
The future is just that: the future.
Yesterday is history and tomorrow is a mystery. We only have today.
Nobody bats an eye when the older person in the relationship is a man.
The re-evaluation of life as we know it, is all encompassing. Now having the time to think I remember my feminist principles. So, decision made, to hell with what convention says. This lovely man makes me happy and I want to spend the rest of my life with him. Looking after, and being looked after.
Learning together. For me the mysteries of the games console, the intricacies of the mobile phone, the music (I am a Motown girl), the laid back manana attitude. For him, my extra 24 years of wisdom, the ability to not need or require constant attention or reassurance, independence of thought and experience and financial stability.
The future is mine to with as I wish. So, I have decided, with a big, shit-eating grin on my face, to enjoy every minute with my much younger lover for as long as it lasts. To hell with other peoples’ opinions.