I turned 49 a few weeks ago, but it’s great to know I’ve still got it. Who would have thought that despite becoming a recluse during the pandemic, I’d have men falling at my feet? It’s so weird. I didn’t even have to pay to join an online dating site. Evidently, Instagram is all I needed.
I generally like social media. I have Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram accounts. While social media can be abused, I’ve experienced firsthand what a useful tool it can be. However, I’ve never quite mastered Instagram, and my account is not particularly engaging. I post about health care advocacy, maybe food I’ve made, or links to my column. Occasionally I’ll post a photo of myself.
Apparently, herein lies the problem. I am such a hot mama that I regularly receive private messages from men I don’t know who tell me I am “irresistible.” They offer friendship or “more.” One even offered to send me $500 weekly to be his “text buddy.”
Do they think this is an online dating site? If so, my profile is totally lacking. I mean, I’ve never tried online dating. So, I’m not exactly sure how it works. I’m guessing I shouldn’t put all my eggs in one basket and just post selfies.
Maybe I should enlighten my admirers and give them some details …
I’m 49 years old, 5-foot-5, and I’ve been married for 27 years to a man I met when I was 19.
We’ve had our ups and downs, but I’ve never been unfaithful. (Though if we go by Jimmy Carter’s definition of adultery, we may need to allow a bit of wiggle room because I’ve just discovered Manuel Garcia-Rulfo.)
I speak three languages: German, Spanish, and English. Accordingly, I’m very keen on traveling, welcoming immigrants, and embracing different cultures.
I have two children (16 and 18), who I fully blame for the stomach pooch and stretch marks you never get to adore on Instagram. I’ve run one marathon and several half marathons. But yesterday, I heard my racing shoes sneeze from the blanket of dust covering them. If you’re one of the few people who witness me break a sweat while exercising, you know I do it because I want to stay alive, not because I like it.
And despite any physical pursuits, I still have cellulite and flabby arms. I’d choose a book or movie over exercise any day. (Jane Austen makes my heart soar.) And my breasts, while ample, are asymmetrical due to years of breastfeeding. You will never, ever catch me in a bikini. EVER.
And Victoria can keep her secrets. I think underwear resembling a prank played by bullies during recess isn’t a gift. It’s a punishment.
I get compliments on my long hair. The length is all mine. No extensions. I used to color it, but I haven’t in several years, and have only a few gray hairs. Though I do have one odd gray eyebrow hair; I call her Violet.
I cook, and my husband washes the dishes. I love Scrabble, and board games like Risk and Blokus (I’m fiercely competitive). My nose is a little large and slightly crooked. I spit water on my seventh-grade crush, Jim H., and I think he broke it while trying to stop the stream of water. Since then, I’ve snored like a bear. But my husband says if you poke me, I’ll roll over and stop. Usually.
Finally, my Instagram profile photo? I took at least 20 before I had one that hid the bit of saggy skin developing under my neck. I had to stretch and stay very still to get it just right, but I’m glad all these men like it.
I’ve never met the “men” who message me. And yes, I’m intentional about those quotation marks. I’m not clear that these are men, let alone real people. Their profiles are often sketchy, created a few hours before sending me messages. They usually have four or five photos and many look like they are screenshots from someone else’s profile. They’re always listed as single men, sometimes single fathers.
And they’re often doctors. (I see they’ve caught on to my health care advocacy.) Although, have you ever met a real doctor who is an “orthopedic surgeon doctor with [sic.] United Nations”? Hmm. Maybe I missed my opportunity to date a physician?
In all seriousness, women, steer clear of such men — unless you like catfish. And gentlemen, if my husband and I ever call it quits, I’ll be sure to update my relationship status.
Otherwise, let’s be clear: Just being a woman on social media isn’t an invitation for sexual advances.
Though, I might make an exception for that Nigerian prince who keeps emailing me…
Hilary Koch lives in Waterville. She can be reached at: hilarykoch@pm.me
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