A Geezer’s Notebook, By Jim Foster
I woke up this morning dreaming of Bonnie and Clyde. To my everlasting embarrassment I was dreaming about Clyde, a sad reminder of the indignities old age inflicts on us geezers. Instead of romping across a field of daffodils beside the lake, beneath the trees, with the lovely Faye Dunaway, I was sticking up a Missouri bank with Warren Beatty. As a matter of fact, I don’t think Faye was in the dream at all. Perhaps she was waiting in the get-away car or in the ladies’ room re-loading her machine gun.
I’m sure some of you older gentlemen have noticed that your interest in the obstinate sex has changed somewhat over the years. It’s heart-breaking really. Instead of looking at the new crop of Hollywood starlets as even more to-do items on your list of romantic possibilities, you wonder if any of them can cook. It is horribly deflating for your manhood when you realise you no longer picture beautiful young women in bikinis and slinky negligees but wonder how the same ladies would look clad in a good sturdy apron and bent over checking a turkey through the window in the oven door.
I have no idea why Brad Pitt dumped Jennifer Aniston and took up with Angelina Jolie. (Yes, I know it is old news now and for all I know they may be back together. I am old I can’t keep up.) But I suspect it has a lot to be with Jennifer’s inability to whomp up a passable tuna casserole. It’s no secret her baking skills leave a lot to be desired. On the other hand, I read in Playboy that Angelina’s cupcakes may just be two of the finest in Tinseltown although I may have misinterpreted the article since there was no mention of a kitchen in the photo caption. Now that I think about it, she wasn’t wearing an apron either.
I secretly admire old crocks my age standing on the corner and ogling women walking along the street. Although I know that should one of the ladies ogle back or seductively drop a silk handkerchief or a used Kleenex, the aforementioned crock would probably have a seizure or failing that, fake one. If not he would have to admit that as a lover he would be next to useless. There is nothing quite as sad as seeing some old codger in the company of a young and beautiful young lady unless the young lady is his granddaughter and she is taking him down to the clinic for his weekly prostate examination.
Whenever I see the 80-year-old CEO of some corporation with a beautiful blonde on his arm, I can’t help wondering if he is going to make a complete ass of himself later. I rather suspect she is not his date at all, but a cardiologist hired by the stockholders to make sure he doesn’t croak before they get a chance to elect a successor.
I’m sure everyone remembers the scandal that erupted when Anna Nicole Smith married J. Howard Marshall, a multi-billionaire when she was 26. J. Howard was nearly 90. Everyone was up in arms; his family of course was livid. As I recall, the only one who wasn’t complaining was the silly old fart himself. Oh, he died of course. But I bet it took the mortician days to wipe the smile off his face.
No doubt J. Howard’s constant sexual demands were tough on poor Anna Nicole, but she survived. If the last photos I saw of her are any indication of the amount of pin money he left her, she must have come through the ordeal with a buck or two. The girl wasn’t exactly starving to death. When she walked down the street, a man had to run ahead with a sign saying ‘Wide Load’.
In spite of the inevitable downsizing of a man’s libido as he grows older, a surprising number of older gentlemen marry women years younger than they are. (In the case of Anna Nicole; it was ‘centuries’) When Pierre Trudeau married Margaret, he had her by a decade or two and they seemed to do all right. Granted it fell apart later on but that could have happened no matter what the age gap.
It works the other way around too. A lot of older women go for us young studs. Oddly enough I haven’t had that many calls. I suspect the word is out that unless you get turned on by men who dream of Warren Beatty, it might be a good idea to call someone a little younger.