An Introspective

Thirty years ago I was deathly afraid of turning thirty. From the perspective of 27, thirty was a deadline. Despite the freedom of the seventies, the burned bras and the "me" generation, some of us still believed that unmarried at thirty was something to fear. To obscure this looming deadline, I put on a bravado that belied the truth. Swearing that "I'll never wash some guy's dirty socks" I set out to establish myself as the dedicated career woman with no time for conubial bliss. What bliss I needed, I managed to acquire through a long time relationship with a married man. It worked well for everyone. I didn't want him to marry me, just scratch the itch. He had a young, sexy mistress to brag about and his wife only had to put out on Sunday afternoons. As 28 approached, I was in year 5 of my career as a mistress. It was finally beginning to bore me, and besides, the bastard had cheated on me with a younger woman! I suppose I had my midlife crisis at 28. I quit my job, sold all my stuff and hit the road for California. It was the worst five months of my life. I was still 28 and unmarried, not engaged or even dating. The sunny skies and beaches didn't change the basics. I returned to Michigan with no prospects, no money but a new determination.