Sparking Hot at Fifty

About two years ago now, my New Year’s Resolution was to “look like a MILF”. More or less, that has been the central motivating principle of my self-improvement plan ever since. Not that you get to actually – you know – with me because I’m not that kind of a lady. I mean there was certainly a time in my life where I was that kind of girl, and I was definitely that kind of young women. You know, the kind you don’t take home to your mother and all. I was very much a fan of the friends with benefits concept decades before it appeared on the social scene. But now? Now I am the by-product of a patriarchal and parochial system that suppresses women’s sexuality out of fear, jealousy and misogyny. Besides, who has time to get laid by more than your partner?

So DrC gets what he wants – a monogamous relationship. I get what I want – only one partner with the can’t hardlies. And it’s all good.


Well, it’s never that easy. The relationship bit is great so let’s just put that one to rest as a topic. The problem is with my self-image. There is probably nothing in the world quite so invisible as a woman between the ages of 45 and 55. We’re not young enough to be sexy, we’re not old enough to be respected. We sag, we bag, there are circles and loops and dips and curves. Skin is starting to go splotchy and the hair hasn’t figured out what colour it wants to be. Energy is low but libido is – what the f*$#? – increasing. My voice has always been high and relatively thin which is no longer chipmunky and charming but instead perceived as shrill and strident. The very adjectives used to describe this state are almost universally negative. Strength and intelligence and drive are no longer seen as precocious and impressive but instead described as hard, demanding, and difficult.

I want my charisma back. I don’t have any desire whatsoever to be young. Frankly, my life has to date been absolutely spectacular – exciting and out of the box in ways that even I look back on and admire. I have earned my sun spots and the grey and the sags of child rearing and a lifetime of good eating. I know with absolute certainty that I am destined for more fascinating adventures because… well, someday in the near future we will get an idea and because we are DrC and Toast, we will do the Crazy Thing. You could say we are past experts at doing cool shit.

So all kidding aside, any resolution that smacks of looking younger is not just a futile step backwards but a complete abrogation of everything we have become. My husband and I don’t need to try to transform ourselves into our younger selves – those callow, arrogant nitwits. We have every reason to take pride in today and instead look forward, discovering ourselves as truly hot, interesting, compelling older beings.

I am little fuzzy, however, on the details. Beauty in our culture is so transparently oriented towards an artificial image of youth. Even young people can’t look like that. Sexy specifically doesn’t play to my strengths since I have categorically never been That Shape nor have I ever displayed even the slightest interest in improving what I possess through cosmetics, prosthetics, surgery, juice cleanses or high heels. A fifty year old tom boy is probably the least likely candidate for even a gradual transformation into smokin’ hot MILF.

But that doesn’t stop me from trying. In the years since my resolution, my wardrobe has gradually evolved – particularly my work wardrobe – and it’s a lot tighter, shows off my legs, isn’t embarrassed about the belly and flaunts the bosom. Better haircut, regular nail care, endless Keggels. Endless keggels. You can not exercise your muscles down there too much ladies. Can Not.

But what has proven most successful as a strategy for my MILF transformation in all this time happened only recently. I finally asked DrC what he finds sexy in older women. When he looks at ladies of a certain vintage (our vintage), what draws the eye and makes him sit up and say Hmmm…! A question to which my loving husband of twenty plus years described a lady who looks and sounds and walks and talks and acts… well exactly like me.