This week, two of my 35+ gal pals had big romantic news to share. One got engaged during a Rio getaway with her beau of ten months. The other is smitten with a St. Louis guy she met after moving back to the Midwest just a few weeks ago.
Upon learning about my friends’ happy developments, I couldn’t help thinking about how quickly one’s romantic situation can change -- and feeling renewed hope about my own prospects as I approach turning 35 later this month.
It’s a welcome feeling. Because even in the post-"Sex And The City" era, persistent messaging says that if you’re a thirty something woman, time is running out to find happily ever after.
Last year, a 60-something woman I met in a mall didn’t hesitate to say that the odds are against me since men in their 30’s and 40’s tend to go for women in their 20’s (she‘s not entirely wrong -- I did two May-December romances where I was the young half of the cliché).
Even more telling, though, was the prominent NYC matchmaker who included me in an email blast seeking applicants for an eligible bachelorettes reality show. Upon replying with my vital stats and age (then 33), this is what she told me--
“You sound very eligible so far but the age cut-off is 32 for this project. It is television, as you know.”
Yikes. Thankfully, fate seems to have a much more forgiving timetable for romance than reality TV.
As my good friend Tiffany recently pointed out, Carrie and her brood didn’t get anything they really wanted until after turning 35.
“Get ready,” Tiffany said, “to join all the most interesting, most vivacious, and most beautiful women who are all 35+ because they've finally grown into themselves. Haven't you read all the magazines?"
Thanks for the reminder, Tiff. Look out 35, here I come!