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Not so much even that I was single, but that I and what that implied. There are plenty of things I simply do not give a single solitary fuck about when it comes to what women my age are supposed to be doing. Just as there are movies on Netflix you might never stumble across in your bleary-eyed scrolling, there are plenty of people you might never see through some whim of programming code.
Some are people whose social circles overlapped with mine but whom I'd never have otherwise met; whose emails wake me up at 5 a.m.
My clock didn't begin ticking louder when I turned 40, but the echo of her boots on the floor did.
Before now, the single men I wanted to date weren't interested in nubile twenty-somethings — at least not exclusively — and even in my mid-thirties competition from younger women didn't concern me.
I had time, and if someone wanted to get up in my grill about having kids eventually, well, my mom had me when she was 38 and I turned out mostly okay. Summers, who is 54, is firmly in favor of skimming a few years off one's age, though always coming correct with current photos.
But now I'm encountering divorcees and mid-life crises and men who themselves lie about their ages and cheekily confess, "Haha, just hoping you'd be so charmed by the time you clicked that it wouldn't matter! Like me, she straddles the digital divide; we remember a time before DOS, but not a lot of dating without the accompanying click and beep of a modem.
"I'd call it a slow attrition of diminishing returns," Chelsea said about dating in NYC.