Date with Slightly Younger Twinkle
November 27, 2012 § 46 Comments
From yesterday’s Times (though they cut the last but one word):-
Just been on a date with slightly Younger Twinkle. Tra-la!
One of the last dates I went on – back in blinking August – was with a jaded man in his sixties, a philanderer, who told me before we sat down to dinner in some seedy joint, that he never wanted to get married again. We had several dates, and I still don’t know why. I didn’t fancy him in the first place but reckoned – wrongly – that a date was better than no date.
Since my separation, I have had my fair share of prospects: Philanderers, Smidgens, Poppy Seeds, Snowmen, Long Shots, you name it. A veritable Odeon-size packet of licorice allsorts. But every one of them, to a man, weighed down with excess baggage: in love with their dead wives; a-sexual; entrenched loners; craggy millionaires; sex-addicted divorcees enjoying a richesse of 25-35 year olds and manifestly uninterested in me. Even the thirty-five year old beauty had baggage of sorts because he turned out to be weird and mixed-message-y, or possibly with a secret girlfriend in tow, or gay. I never did discover. And now I don’t care because the current Younger Twinkle has none of this baggage. The only disadvantage he has is that he is a tad younger than me, but that disadvantage is also a whopping great advantage, obviously.
People have said, Have Fun. And I am having Fun but of course it is not quite as simple as that if you have been a Plankton for as long as I have. The Fun is in a context of years of solitude and loneliness and disappointments so, maddeningly, it just does take on a certain significance, more than it should, especially because cool is so far from my default setting. We went to the theatre together and he held my hand throughout and stole sweet glances at me in the dark. Ha! When was the last time, you ask yourself…?
And then your head, if remotely like mine, rather too girly and reflective, starts flooding with existential bollocks. You start to ponder the past, and dammit, even your own mortality. And stuff about your youth, his youth, and regrets that the two didn’t coincide. You think: is it possible to embark on a relationship that, necessarily, cannot last? You feel the agony perhaps rather more than the ecstasy, and then kick yourself for failing to “live in the moment”.
Let go for Christ’s sake, you tell yourself, and boy, you do try. It was a great date and, at the end of the evening, there was even a kiss.
Hard not to feel excited.
The most hard-won kiss in the history of the fucking universe.