I understand that you are now out in the land of the free, the home of the newly single. Welcome to the land of opportunities, where so many single women wait on the sideline as in a 7th grade dance.

Let me guess, you were married for 30 some odd years. Alongside your wife, you were blessed with 2, maybe 3 beautiful children. Oh how proud you were! Those little miniatures of you and your wife! What a miracle! You watched those babies grow, cherished by their mother. Maybe you witnessed your wife battling those few extra pounds after number 1 was born. Maybe you saw her doing sit-ups after the baby was asleep, perhaps you saw her pass up her favorite dessert in spite of her overwhelming desire to have that instant gratification. And surprise, just a short time later, and just a few pounds short of her goal weight, she is expecting another child! As time goes by, you notice that your wife (although still precious) is a little softer around the middle, her clothes although a few sizes larger, are not as form fitting as they used to be. Maybe she talks about it, sharing with you her body image issues, maybe she just hopes you don’t notice. Of course, perhaps your own waistline has grown in girth. She most likely hasn’t even noticed, or cared.

She is an amazing mother and devoted wife. Before you know it, the little darlings are almost adults, life is less hectic, easier in fact. It’s hard to believe the way time has marched on, and how throughout the years, the family portrait has changed so much. When did the kids get so grown up? When did your wife transform from young and slim to slightly pudgy and on the cusp of menopause? Forget the fact that your own reflection has changed. Soft lines around the face, lids drooping, you have developed breasts.

For untold reasons, you find yourself middle aged and single. Men, historically, do not want to live a life alone. So, you get out there. You cast your net into the sea of available women. But wait, you want a pretty one, a lady reminiscent of your pre-married, carefree days.  You want one that doesn’t carry the evidence of ever having a child. You want one that looks good on your arm, one that you can brag to your middle aged friends that she gives you the time of day. So you narrow your search. Yes, there are exceptional beauties in this age bracket. Rare, but they do exist, my very own sister happens to be one of them. But in the meantime, do you know what, or who you might of missed out on?

You don’t know me, but that’s because you haven’t given me a second look. Yes, maybe a passing glance, but not a second look.

You see, at the age of 53, I became a widow, with three grown children. My last marriage had been a happy, fulfilling one. I discovered around the age of menopause that a good 20 pounds had crept up on me. No problem, just cut back a little, get back in the gym and those unwanted pounds will be off in no time, After all, that was the regimen after giving birth. But this time it was different. It seemed to be an uphill battle, one that left me feeling discouraged and defeated. Quite honestly, the determination was not what it was in my younger years. I had a husband that loved me from the inside out, not from the outside in.  My clothing size didn’t matter to him, although the number had increased through the years.  What he was insistent on was that I wore clothes that were current, up to date, and flattering to my body. Don’t get me wrong, I know that men are visual, and I’m sure that he would’ve loved to see me down to the size when we first married, but he also wanted me happy and not judge myself too harshly. The way that this man made me feel about myself, well maybe I took for granted that every man felt the same way about the woman he loves. He thought I was funny, sexy, and intelligent. He was openly affectionate, everyone that knew us never doubted his love and devotion to me. He made me feel like a queen. So, did I worry that my body had conformed to the typical 50 year old female shape? No, because I knew in my husband’s eyes, I was far more than my size. I was loved, appreciated, wanted, and my husband saw far beyond the extra pounds.

And then he died. Unexpectantly.  Devastating. The loss, unimaginable.

He has been gone five years now.

I have had a couple of false starts in the dating world. I have put my toes in the water and as quickly as that water would hit me, I pulled back.

And now, now that I think I might be ready to try again, I see men and how they don’t look at me. There’s no second look at the red light. Sitting at the restaurant, there’s no lingering looks from across the room. Limited interest on a dating site. I’m still the funny, intelligent, and even at times, sexy woman that I was from years earlier.

I’ve learned so much about myself in these last five years. I’ve learned that I’m strong. I have tenacity, giving up is not an option. I am determined to keep my sense of humor, my love of life, my love for family and friends. Although guarded, I remain tender hearted. I had just starting writing when my husband died, and I have continued writing and sharing (most) of my stories. I found out that I love to paint. I’m not great at it, but it brings peace and joy to my life. Although possessions are not of the utmost importance, I take pride in what I have.

I am convinced if my husband could speak from heaven, he would say to any potential man in my life (if he found him worthy), “Dude, she is a treasure, don’t let her get away. Find her beauty, adore her strength and cherish her as she deserves”.

In closing, Mr. FreeMan, please stop judging a book by its cover. Open the book, read some pages, fall in love with what’s inside. The beauty of her phrases, the rhythm of her heart. And maybe, then maybe the cover will not matter quite so much. After all, in time, the cover will age, the binding will crack, the edges will become soft and worn, but the inside, well, the inside will remain the same.

Regards,

Cat Corrier

 June 18, 2014. Explanation of open letter to “Mr. Free Man”

This letter was written in pure frustration after hearing that a male acquaintance (friend of a friend really) had recently joined Match.Com. He is a very nice guy, witty, intelligent… but in the looks department…well, he’s witty.. he’s intelligent.. you get it, right? His body type, perhaps a bit below average.  And to boot, he has a few legal issues hanging over his head right now.

When someone asked him had he met anyone special on Match, his reply was, “Not really, it’s just a bunch of fat girls with missing teeth.”  Ok, I’m paraphrasing, but that was the gist of his answer.  Really? And on the outside, you’re a prize? Hence, the letter.

A few that have read this letter without this explanation have been left with the impression that I am a man-hater, and truly, I’m not. I’m just not sure why it’s ok to expect more from a person than you are yourself. Given my age, my size, why should I expect a George Clooney to look my way?  I don’t. That’s not to say that I am short changing myself, I’m just being realistic. Now, if Mr. Clooney Look Alike stopped and got to know me, the outcome might be different.

So, dear Mr. Free Man, let’s start with looking at the man in the mirror before you judge others, shall we?