Men aged sixty and over almost all have one thing in common: they suddenly discover an irresistible charm. Whether they still have a full head of hair or a skillfully polished bald head, naturally white hair or heroically blackened hair, a proudly protruding belly or a falsely flat stomach, they are chronic nostalgics convinced they have a right to renewed youth.
They are generally married, of course. But be careful: they no longer truly live with their spouses. They "cohabitate." A crucial distinction.
They coexist for the sake of their offsprings, who are now over thirty, have earned two degrees, received three vaccinations, have a job, a spouse, a bank loan, and sometimes even produced their own children. But the self-sacrificing father remains in the marital home to preserve the emotional stability of these poor, vaccinated, married, and, moreover, employed young adults.
As for their wives, they are always described in particularly touching terms. Either she is "a wonderful person," which usually means he hasn't spoken to her in fifteen years. Or she is "like a sister," a slightly unsettling phrase after thirty-five years of marriage. Or she "lives her own life," meaning she prepares dinner, manages the household, pays the bills, entertains guests, renews his prescriptions, and reminds him of his cardiology appointment.
Some wives are still officially in office. Others have already publicly resigned, but continue to provide the bare minimum service: household maintenance, administration, meals, pharmacy, public relations and maintaining appearances at weddings, baptisms and funerals.
The man, for his part, decided to take control of his life.
So we find him at the gym, squeezed into an outrageously expensive technical outfit, sweating with dignity to awaken some lazy muscles that had been peacefully sleeping since 1987. He lifts a dumbbell, discreetly observes his reflection, changes angle, contracts his arm and desperately seeks the biceps his trainer promised.
He doesn't sweat: he "eliminates toxins".
He is not suffering: he is "pushing his limits".
He's not short of breath: he's "working on his cardio".
Between sets of three movements, he checks his phone, replies to a message, smooths down his hair if there's any left, then allows himself a long break intended, it seems, for muscle recovery. The muscle, exhausted from being used for forty-five seconds, does indeed require twenty minutes of rest.
His personal trainer, a young man with disproportionately large shoulders, assures him that the results are coming. They're coming slowly, admittedly, but they're coming. Somewhere!
Our sixty-year-old seducer also follows an extremely strict diet. In the morning: seeds, unsweetened yogurt, egg white, and warm lemon water. At midday: grilled chicken, steamed vegetables, and three almonds counted with notary-like precision.
In the evening, however, circumstances become more complex.
A business dinner, an unexpected invitation, a birthday, a visiting friend: all these are unforeseen circumstances that justify red meat, fries, dessert, and a digestif. He's not cheating on his diet. He's simply demonstrating metabolic flexibility.
Then comes the cigar.
Because the sixty-year-old man who has just spent two hours monitoring his cholesterol and counting his protein intake considers it perfectly logical to end the evening with a sizable cigar. Cigars are obviously not a bad habit. They represent a way of life, a symbol of maturity, a virile ritual accompanied by a cognac he drinks purely "for the taste."
He then poses, cigar in hand, watch clearly visible, eyes slightly squinting, as if he had just concluded an international agreement when he had only ordered the bill.
Then all it takes is for a woman to give him a polite smile for him to feel entrusted with a mission. He straightens his back, tucks in his rounded belly, and deploys his charm disguised as intellectual conversation.
He never flirts, of course.
He "appreciates pleasant encounters".
He's not courting you: he admires your intelligence.
He is not looking for anything at all: he only wants to "enjoy life", "share good times" and "stay surrounded by positive people".
Then come the subtly outdated compliments, the youthful anecdotes, the unverifiable sporting achievements, and the photograph taken twenty-five years earlier, presented as dating from "a few years ago."
According to him, he has known all women, frequented all places, refused all opportunities and left all those who, curiously, seem to ignore his existence today.
He explains that he's different from men his age. More modern. More open-minded. Younger at heart. He's mostly young at heart because the rest of his body refused to cooperate.
And then, they are all victims of something. Victims of a marriage that has become "complicated", of a wife who "no longer understands them", of adult children who mysteriously prevent them from rebuilding their lives, or simply of a cruel fate that has imposed thirty years of marital comfort on them.
They are all at a crossroads. Some have been there for ten years, with the engine running, the turn signal on, and absolutely no intention of turning.
They dream of changing their lives, but certainly not their wives. After thirty years of marriage, that's simply not done. You don't leave a faithful, organized, reassuring wife who is perfectly skilled at managing the household, medications, and meals. You're simply looking for a brief interlude elsewhere, a chance to lighten the load of life.
A brief affair, they explain gravely, could help them "find themselves," "reconnect with themselves," and become more fulfilled men. Almost a therapeutic approach. A prescription without a doctor, but with mandatory discretion.
The next day, they will return home, sit down at the table, and ask their wives what's for lunch. Because the goal is certainly not to disrupt the family balance. It's simply to add a little personal fulfillment between cardiology appointments.
So, even after sixty, some men don't age. They simply become teenagers with a luxury watch, a gym membership, a nutrition coach, a Cuban cigar, monitored blood pressure, and a wife waiting for them at home with their dinner, their medication, and the resigned patience of a woman who has long known the difference between genuine charm and a medically prescribed youthful crisis.
Ultimately, they want neither to leave, nor to choose, nor to give up. They only want to keep the woman who organizes their life and seduce those who give them the illusion that it has only just begun.
Except that women have long since discovered their secret. They smile at them, watch them bustle about, let them play the eternal young leading men… before escorting them back, with infinite tenderness, to their beloved wives!
Ahhhh, sexagenarians, a little seriousness, please!
Ha ha ha, amazing details with humor, it applies nicely to most couples after aging and many years of companionship. forwarded to me originally in French by a friend, I don't know the author or if it was meant for publishing or actually published somewhere, but I found it excellent fitting our blog , more so for those elderly aging gracefully couples.
As always, my many thanks to all.
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