Monday, December 3, 2007

Aging in Paris

Sitting in a Paris café and watching people go by or the other clients, one cannot help but think about things and be a bit reflective (like, when is the arrogant waiter going to ever notice me?). One day, at Place de la Marie in the 4th arrondissement, I watched a group of old ladies sitting on a bench in front of the café, talking, laughing and just passing the time in each other’s company. Everyday after that day, I saw them on the same bench at the same time. I started thinking about growing old. Yes, something that gay men fear most of all. How do you expect to land Mr. Right with wrinkled skin, sagging ass and soft erection? Worse yet, with failing vision, you would probably have a hard time spotting Mr. Right even if he was a mere meter from you.
What getting old means
I wished now that people had told me more about getting old. So many things that I did not anticipate or expect that their sudden appearance can put anybody in a light depression. I noticed my sight was going when I had a bit of trouble reading the small map of Paris métro. I used to love this little map that fits into my wallet. Now, I need a map the size of Manhattan to easily read the names of the station or buy a magnifying glass and keep the little map in my wallet.
Gay men, like adolescents, are avid sms users too which are practical to set up sex RDVs. But now I am obliged to buy the high tech and rather large cell phone because the little cute ones (yes, size does matter, though for once, the smaller the better) that we like so much are becoming too difficult to read!
To top it off, how many evenings have I spent at dinner table without my glasses (thinking I look cuter without them) blind as a bat conversing with someone that looked cute only to find out he was far from it when I took a peek with my glasses whilst he was asleep next to me in my bed?
Being old was something that scared me and of which I tried to think as little as possible. I could not imagine being 30 when I turned 21, let alone turning 40. In subways and buses I would look at old men thinking that I would NEVER get that age. This is an interesting phenomenon as I often imagined myself being rich (unlikely to happen), yet never imagined being old (sure to happen). What does that say about how we think of ourselves in the future? I looked at older gay men in bars thinking that at their age I would probably be at home watching tv with Mr. Right with whom I would have bought a house, a car and raised a dog together. Wrong. I still frequent gay bars looking for Mr. Right and often end up with Mr. Available, still don’t own a house and what’s more I am getting kicked out of my miniscule apartment in Paris. Life can be so cruel!
Being old, being wise?
I don’t know about wise, but certainly old means you know more than you care or ever want to know. The day I finally FELT I perfectly understood the phrase Youth is wasted on the young I knew I did not belong to this group any more. Worse, I very nearly physically felt the saying Now I get up with a stiff back and a soft dick (instead of the other way around!). So, we know more with age, but this is the knowledge that I can do without really.
In most gay circles, being old means you’re finished, done, out. That’s probably why many gay men act young despite their wrinkled skin and sagging behind. They still wear tight jeans (at least in Paris) with t shirt that is at least 2 sizes too small. They shaved their head. They wear the latest Converse on their feet (Hey, it’s like looking in the mirror, writing this).
However, being older does have its advantages. We don’t get all worked out thinking about what other people think of us. We know who we are. Having been there and done that, there’s always something in our past to which we can turn to deal with any situation. We get out of uncomfortable situations more easily and by being nice! A concrete example, after making love and needing my beauty sleep though the guy I was with seemed to still be keen on playing, I probably would not have known what to do when I was young. Now, I can say in my most Blanche (from the Golden Girls, for you who are not of age to know this wonderful series) voice if I could call a taxi for him…Hey, service with a smile! And I assure you that I did not learn that in Paris!

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