Maria Grazia Swan's Diary of a Single Boomer

When I first heard the title of Maria Grazia Swan’s book, I laughed out loud and knew I had to read it. Boomer Babes are true stories about love and lust over 50. While the ladies in her stories have a couple years on me, I can SO relate to them. Dating is hard at any age! But, not only does she have some hilarious stories of dating disaster, but there are also some really beautiful happy endings and stories of true love as well. I HIGHLY recommend this book – the way it’s broken up into lots of different stories makes it an excellent beach or vacation read. So, take it away Maria…


Diary of a Single Boomer

Friday night, during what should have been the cusp between happy hours and dinner and a movie. I'm sitting home, alone, adding up my monthly bills to be filed under
”beauty expenses.” I'm not implying I'm a beauty; it's just an easy file name to remember. Botox; $300, check. Restylane $420, yes. Photofacial $300, done. Haircut, color and style, $180, yep. Personal trainer $240, you bet. Manicure and pedicure $55, of course. Life coaching session, $120, can’t live without them. Deep tissue massage, $65, felt so good. I hope I haven't left out anything. It’s time to total up the various amounts, and I’m looking for excuses to postpone the inevitable.
It’s going to drive me to binge on Tic Tacs again, and that may be good for my
breath but not for my teeth. Oops, see? I forgot the teeth whitening, $299. Then again, who cares about fresh breath when the only one here to appreciate it is my cat, and she is not particularly prone to shows of affection.

Why am I so bitchy? I should be thrilled. This morning I read an article in the Rep bragging about how fabulous Boomers are. It actually said something like “The new look of middle age---Fabulous.” Well, I'm middle age, and so are most of my friends and we do deserve to be called fabulous, and we have the bills to prove it. I’m sure there are Boomers who look fabulous without spending a lot of cash. I’m just not one of them. I could have joined Debbie at the favorite Scottsdale club tonight but truth be told, I'd rather have a root canal. That's no reflection on the establishment, mind you. They serve decent food, mix exotic drinks, and play fun music.

It’s just that the place is crowded, especially on Fridays and Saturday nights, and I end up feeling invisible. Have you ever felt that way? There you are, with your new, sexy little dress, your tallest stilettos and your flashiest bling-bling. You smell good, you feel good and you step into the place with a pound of attitude and a ton of expectation. Hey, there is a full moon out, you drove with the top down, and the radio was playing your favorite tune. How more perfect can life be?

You get your first reality check when the fifty-something hunk who caught your eye in the parking lot walks right by you, steps on your open toes, and without slowing down to apologize, makes a beeline for the sweet thing half his age rolling her skinny, exposed hips on the dance floor. Did I say skinny? Make that bony.

It goes downhill from there; the place seems populated by women under forty
and men over fifty. I swore never to go back after that time when I got caught
on the dance floor between the tremendous, man-made mammaries of a flashy
blonde and the equally tremendous beer belly of the older man chasing after her.
I was able to slip away before they exhaled simultaneously, and no, they never noticed me.

So I sit and listen to an interview with Terri Hatcher of Desperate Housewives
fame; she is complaining about a lack of dates. Terri Hatcher? Holy cannoli! If she can't get a date, what are my chances?

The phone rings; "Hello?" It's Judi, my do gooder friend, and I really mean, “do good.” She invites me to one of her typical outings the next day. "It's for a good cause. It's Singles Saturday, and we will help box food for the homeless. There will be lot of singles, men and women, all volunteers. Come on, it'll be good for you. And fun."

How reassuring. Still, singles men. And a good cause. I can show off my whiter
teeth. "I'm in," I say to Judi, "What time are you picking me up?" She says 9:00 a.m.

I smile and say, “Sounds…fabulous!”

I push aside my bills and nuzzle my cat, who knows, she may appreciate my minty fresh breath after all.

Maria Grazia Swan
http://www.mariagrazia.tv/