COME INTO MY PARLOUR
How to get your man! Gillian Milligan (yes that's her real name!) set out a devious and cunning plan to find herself a soul mate. A very honest and very funny account of the trials and tribulations of man hunting for the over 50's.
A new instalment each month.
Scroll down for ALL four Instalments.
PART ONE of FOUR:
Men. What are we women ever going to make of them! These royal drone of things, these skeptical flies, these earthly majesties, these seat in bars, these other Edens, semi-parasites, a fortress built by themselves for themselves, this yappy breed, these little worlds, these rocks set in a misty sea, these blessed clots, these men, these beings, these English - males! Yes, what are we women to make of them, if we can ever get our hands on a good one!
Let me tell you how I set out to find the most suitable male, for me that is, who is not too set in his own selfish ways! Firstly he had to be kind, intelligent, well read, polite, as well as iron his own shirts, do all the gardening (I have a very large garden) and be in good shape. A small paunch is acceptable, but a big butt isn’t. I’ve retained a certain semblance of figure and good stature for someone in their early 60’s and I expect the same in any future significant other. He can’t be too short, 5’7" minimum, and not too tall, 6’4" maximum. I’m 5’7" so I should be able to fit nicely alongside him and not have to look down on him - physically speaking!
I’m prepared to accept a few foibles, a minor weakness or two in character, even a blemish, but there’ll be no swearing, heavy drinking, no smoking, no bad table habits, and he will have his own bathroom and look after the same. The floor of the private bathroom of my long departed husband Michael resembled peanut brittle, and I can’t allow that to happen again! Cleanliness is next to Godliness, although the latter, church going etc, will not be a requirement. I watch a lot of TV so I don’t mind him watching his share - on the TV in the conservatory. The main one is in the living room. And that's mine. Along with my CD player.
My good friend and neighbour, Allison, said I was shooting for the stars. She said that if there was such a man out there then he’d be already short-listed by over half the local population of single women - whatever their age. I said perhaps, but I have a trump card I’m about to play that should have them queuing up outside my front gate, taking numbers. My trump card was in the wording of the ad I was about to place, it read: ‘Attractive woman in her late 50’s (so I fudged a little!) of very independent means, owning her own secluded cottage and 17 acres of arable land, seeks the companionship of a male of similar age who wishes to enjoy to the very fullest the rest of his life on earth." I like it Allison said. Like it, I replied, it’s a masterpiece of advertising that should give me my pick of the best there is to offer for miles around.
My plan was this. To place an ad in several local and county newspapers, with a box number for replies. Once the replies come rolling in I’d send a nicely worded reply (photo-copied) detailing my wants and don't-wants, and enclose a very good photo of myself. With this I’d give my telephone number but only the area I lived in, not my address. After the call-backs are received by me I’ll ask a lot of important questions (from my clipboard list) over the ‘phone and finally agree to meet them. Here. In my home. No going to coffee shops or shopping malls. They come here so I can see how they fit into my surroundings.
Allison said I was coming across more like a spider! A sort of ‘come into my parlour,’ and that it might scare off some men. If it does I replied then those ones are not worth their salt in the first place!
PART TWO:
How can you judge a person accurately by getting a handwritten letter from them? Handwriting, swears Allison my neighbour and closest friend, is the key to character. Trouble was I got two replies typewritten, both saying they used their computer word processor for all written communications. So, with Allison helping me sort through the replies; there were only seven from the two county newspaper ads in the ‘personal’ column, we laid them out on the table, made a pot of tea, and she read each one out loud. We assigned a number and a letter grade: A was ‘very promising,’ B was ‘interesting,’ and C was ‘iffy.’ After reading them all we put them immediately into three piles, which came out two A’s, three B’s, and two ‘C’s. The typed replies both fell into the B section.
With a fresh pot of tea made we began a more ‘in depth’ look at each reply by listing age, (if mentioned - several just said ‘late 50’s), type of work done, (two were over 60 and retired), and if there was any mention of medical problems. As Allison said you don’t want to get in with a man who needs too much care and attention - he has to be in good health - he’ll need to be! There’s the 17 acres that will need caring for even with additional hired help, and of course the cottage itself, all the interior electrical, plumbing, and roofing will need an expert eye to see trouble when it’s coming. It’s not like I want a handyman to take care of everything, because quite frankly I can easily pay skilled people to take care of all those needs, but I also don’t want someone who has trouble getting up every morning, who spends too much time in his armchair, and retires before 10 pm.
No one actually mentioned in their letter that they were ‘ill’ but one did say ‘I don’t get around like I used to.’ Looking at his handwriting and the overall feel of the letter placed this man’s application into the round filing cabinet - waste basket. One down, six to go. Another one was quickly eliminated because his spelling, punctuation, and grammar were terrible. His handwriting looked like a bird had walked all over his letter. We both assumed (rightly or wrongly) a poor education leads unfortunately to many other failings in life. Two down, five to go.
Another was eliminated after we realised he’d written he didn’t drive anymore. Didn’t drive anymore? Sick. One leg. Too old. Bifocals lost. He must be able to drive. Three down, four to go. At last a promising one. Tall, owned and operated his own removals and storage company (four moving vans he stated), and lost his wife to cancer some two years ago. He was moved into pile A, (next to the plate of ginger cake!) and will be telephoned. Two more letters (one typewritten) went into the B pile, being polite, interesting, but not going into any length about their backgrounds. The last letter was one short paragraph long, listing the basic essentials in a matter of fact way, but finished up with a provocative sentence that caught both our fancies. He stated: ‘I’m told I resemble Gary Cooper so if you’re interested let’s arrange our own ‘High Noon.’! Allison said in a low growl, ‘you know all about Gary Cooper don’t you,’ and I replied, ‘yes, he could ride horses well and he might look good checking the fences on the big 17!’ We both laughed, made another pot of tea, and sorted out four calls to made that evening. Allison said she’d be back later!
PART THREE:
Npw I had come to the fun part of my cunning plan to find the worlds most suitable male for an active lady with 17 acres! I thought I’d start with the less entertaining of the final four I short-listed leaving the Gary Cooper lookalike until last. From the two in the ‘B’ pile I rang John. ‘John, this is Gillian. I received your letter and must say I am most interested in what you have to say.’ We went on to discuss many things, from what he did for a living, his accommodation, his past relationships (none of this was in his typewritten letter) and what he (not I) was looking for. He was quite frank. He wanted a partner to share his life, look after his or our home (he meant mine no doubt) but still continue with his 8 to 10 hour a day accountancy work. I said I’d get back to him.
Peter was more interesting (the other B listing) asking a lot of questions about me. He liked my photo very much saying I looked quite ‘comely.’ I sensed from his jovial patter and his quiet tones that he was a gentle man who leans towards a full relationship in every sense of the word. But hearing isn’t seeing, so I offered to entertain him in my home the following evening for an hour. We agreed the time and I awaited his pleasure.
The gentleman who was the sole designation in category A, Brian by name, had called me after I replied to his inquiry with my photo and my telephone number. I was out and he left a message, following up with the letter. Tall, owned a four vehicle Moving & Storage comnpany, and was an active hiker and boater in his early 60’s. Married once but now a widow. Brian seemed to be a great possibility, but the ‘Gary Cooper’ one intrigued me. I agreed to meet Brian at my place late saturday afternoon. We agreed on afternoon tea and a talk for about an hour as he had a few things to finalise at his business before the days end.
Gary Cooper was named Clive! But I won’t hold that against him! He once worked his father’s dairy farm but sold that up some years ago when his father finally passed away. Since then he had been trying to start a riding school. On the phone he seemed not very talkative, responding only to my series of questions. He had my photo, which I’d sent to all the likely prospects, and asked if I rode. I said only on the beach or at fairgrounds, so he agreed to take me out to a friends place and teach me to ‘ride proper.’ He really was coming across like a Gary Cooper, but everything is in the looks.
Peter arrived a touch early, dressed in sports coat and slacks with shiny brown shoes. He was slim, quite leggy, and had a large nose. I had my best figure hugging dark blue outfit on over a white frilly blouse. He seemed to look at me quite a lot, which didn’t bother me, until I realised his conversation began to move into the area of ‘getting to know each other better by spending a short hotel break down by the sea.’ I smiled. He asked to see the acres and we went out into the back of my cottage. ‘Magnificent,’ he said, ‘what are you planning to do with it all?’ ‘Nothing,’ I replied, ‘just keep it tidy. Horses could graze here perhaps,’ We went in, and as we did he got behind me and I felt his hand in the small of my back. I’m not sure I like it - but I didn’t object either. As he left he gave me a soft warm kiss. It was nice!
PART FOUR & FINAL Part.
Whatever we say about looks when we’re with friends discussing friendships and marriage, the bottom line is that the person of our choice must meet our personal likes and dislikes in appearance, in size, in attire, and in general looks. If we look around us in life we will see, in the main, that apples go with apples, pears with pears, and bananas with bananas! And I don’t mean ethnic makeup, I mean looks - the good, the bad, and the ugly. Which brings me to the dilemma I faced when I met Clive. Handsome, tall, walked well, was courteous upto a point, but he dressed badly, had never read a decent book in his entire life, and watched the TV whenever he was not working. When I finally went to his farm I was to discover a lot more I didn’t like.
Clive did not look after himself too well or the place he lived in - lived in was indeed the operative word! He went on about not having the time to keep it all ship-shape, what with keeping the farm going, and when I asked him why didn’t he get a woman to come in twice a week to clean up he replied in a loud disapproving tone, ‘you know what that costs?’ I told him whatever it costs it has worth it. One thing for sure he wasn’t dragging me into cleaning up his place.
There was my dilemma. All you ever wanted in a man - looks-wise, but an untidy unkempt layabout the rest of the time. I could scoop him up, change him completely, let him sell his farm, marry him, share in his wealth, pick up after him, and no doubt have some of the best intimate moments a woman could ask for. But, although passion for each other is the most dominant force for people to marry it isn’t the best reason for co-existence. Love in the sexual sense is all very well but at my age (at any age?) I need love for all the other reasons - as well a!
Clive and I did get away for a weekend at a seaside hotel, and the experience was exhilarating - not the sea air, the other thing! - and I thoroughly enjoyed myself. But I was glad to be home and to decide that I needed much more than he had to offer. As we grow older it’s not so much about romance and attraction, it’s more about companionship and likability. Clive would not make a good companion. I liked him, but for all the wrong reasons.
So there I was, back at square one, with Allison wondering what in the world was wrong with me. A good looking man, money, someone to care for - I mean really care for in the clean up sense - and a rattling good lover to boot. She was not buying my reasons for saying goodbye to Clive, but I was, and I was sure I was right. And having said my farewells to him I was left with a few possible meetings with my second and third place choices but decided not to bother. If I was to meet someone it was to be by accident, in a shop, in the library, at a dance or social, or just by chance somewhere else. Trouble is, that can take forever.
(Since I began this story I have met a gentleman that fits all the things Clive didn’t. In one area however he’s so-so. Can’t win ‘em all - ain't that the story of our lives ladies!?)
