The Male of the Species

I'm convinced that the over-50 male of the species is a subspecies, with the accent on sub.

I mentioned yesterday that I saw a hyperhandsome man at Starbucks, but I didn't walk over and scope him out. I merely obsessed on the entire drive to Akron about possible opportunities. Then I did what any techsavvy woman of the 00s would do: I posted a Missed Connections ad on Craigslist. A couple of hours later I received an e-mail from a man who said he had been at the Canfield Starbucks and made eye contact with a "mature woman" (his words, not mine—doesn't he know how that sounds?!) and wondered if he was the man I seen [sic].

We exchanged a couple of e-mails and a handful of facts (where he was standing, what I was wearing) and determined that we were not the ones making eyes with each other. Then came the clincher—a final note from him saying he wouldn't mind seeing me. "I am married, to long, not looking for a divorse, just having fun..Love is grand, Divorse is a 100 Grand!!! Cheaper to keep her!!"

Are you kidding me?

I quickly responded, "I don't do married."

BTW, I also don't date men who can't spell and/or don't bother to proofread their communications.

About three hours later I got an e-mail from another man. His cryptic message was, "hey im not him but id love to get coffee with you and im very handsome." His e-mail included a photo of a man, presumably him, shirtless and striking a flexed-biceps pose.

Wait, you know nothing about me except that I state that I'm 58 and that I stopped at Starbucks yesterday morning? And based on those two facts you want to have coffee with me?

Maybe meeting a suitable man of an appropriate age and with adequate education to write well is impossible.

But just in case my guy-by-the-window is a possibility, I'll probably stop a couple of mornings next week for a mocha. Just in case.