By Lori Welch Brown

If you’ve been reading the Old Town Crier on the regular, you know that I’ve been writing in this space for a long, long time. In the beginning there was Single Space where I wrote about happy hours, boozy brunches, and cute bartenders all while chronicling the ups and down of my dating life. Being the dedicated person I am (and perhaps also a masochist), I rode those waves for a couple of decades for the entertainment of you, our loyal readers. To the chagrin of many of my friends, I put my life out there for all to see. As a natural sharer, I talked about being ghosted by a date. I talked about the grief I felt over the loss of my mom and how hard being single could be (especially when your basement floods).  I talked about online dating before it was the norm and confessed to many a hangover.

Basically, I grew up here.

Now, I’m post-menopausal, middle-aged, and married. Maybe I’m not as much fun as I used to be. Sure—there are a few bartenders who still recognize me, but only if they’re wearing their glasses. And it’s usually because I’m popping in to use the restroom and give a quick wave vs. sauntering back in the next day to retrieve my AMEX.

Every now and then I cross paths with one of those unfortunate dates who became unsuspecting plot lines, and I have to squint to recognize him with less hair, more paunch. Good thing I’ve disguised myself with gray roots, fuller hips, and laugh lines. No hard feelings, gents.

So, coming up with fun topics is a bit of a challenge these days. I can get sentimental at the drop of a hat, but who needs a Debbie Downer? Stirring up the political pot is a cheap shot, and that’s not my thing. I leave that to my dear hubby, XXL. These days I’ve become much more of a stick-my-head in the sand kinda gal. Don’t judge, it’s the only thing that’s keeping me sane. Trust me—the last thing this world needs is another angry, middle-aged white woman.

I could rehash some of my old dating experiences—like the best first date I ever had with a guy whose wife called me the next morning. That was fun. Or the date I had with the guy who showed up in a velour track suit and insisted we split the $10 check. Or the guy whose breath was so bad, I had to suck on Certs the entire time to disguise the odor.

But that also seems like a cheap shot, and I’ve already paid that therapy bill. Gents—all is forgiven, but not forgotten and I retain the right to write about you until they release my ashes into the wind.

Of course, being married is its own source of material. XXL does not disappoint when it comes to doing and/or saying things for me to write about. Luckily, he’s not much of a reader so I can get away with quite a lot. I wrote an entire article about his penchant for mansplaining. I was 44 and running my own company when we met, but somehow that didn’t give me enough street cred to know the proper way to load a dishwasher or flush a toilet. As they say, if you want to find out what’s wrong with yourself, get married.

XXL doesn’t get enough credit though. He puts up with a lot from me. It can’t be easy living with a menopausal Virgo who happens to be a writer. He once said to me, “It seems like you’re building a case against me,” to which I responded, “Actually, you can relax. I’m not building a case against you—I’m building an outline for a novel, and you’re the main character.” His secret fantasy is to go viral so maybe one day I can deliver the next best thing—a character in a best-selling novel. Who knows—maybe Jon Hamm will play him in the movie (Oh, wait. That’s my fantasy).

The point is that I’ve been in this space for a long time. While I ain’t as fun as I once was, I got a few years on me now. That’s just the cold, hard truth. I still throw a few back, talk a little smack when I’m feeling bullet proof. I ain’t as fun as I once was, but I’m as fun once as I ever was.

I appreciate you showing up each month—my how the years have flown. While I may not be as fun as I used to be, I hope I provide some lightness to your day—maybe even a laugh or two. Maybe you’ve come away thinking, “What a waste of my time.” But here’s the thing—if I’ve gotten you to take a pause in your hectic day to sit down, put your phone down, and read something that isn’t the news, then I’ll take that as a win.

Thanks for the lyrics, Toby. They’re as good once as they ever were and trust that I’ve sang them a time or two.

About the Author: Lori is a local writer, painter and pet lover who loves to share her experiences and expertise with our readers. She has been penning a column for the OTC for over 20 years. Please follow Lori online on Medium for more missives like this.