So, the other day I was looking at one of those internet sites “Women of the 60s-70s and what they look like now”
I was totally taken back on some, no most, of the ‘femme fatale’ and how those once sexy, desirable figures seemed to have let themselves go. Where were those fabulous faces, figures, sex goddesses from my youth? Wrinkles, flabby arms, in need of weight loss, unkept hair, blotches, the skin imperfections, a lot has really gone downhill. I was initially discouraged by what I saw.
After viewing the entire disappointing array of beauties and deciding if I would still pigeonhole them into terms of ‘sexy, ‘desirable’ and ‘huba huba’, it suddenly dawned on me what a male hypocrite I had become, or always was.
Those sirens of the 60s and 70s have now hit their 70s and above. The flowing locks and airbrushed beauty was nothing more than a wild youth’s fantasy and horniness gone amuck.
I went and looked in a mirror. How many women who, perhaps found could find me somewhat desirable back in the 60s and 70s, would give this overweight, hair losing, sagging male an afterthought?
It is amazing how we never see age progression in ourselves, but always find it in like-mannered folk.
Hours later I confessed to my Wife Patti what I had done and how I came to admit to aged sexism. She smiled, with a knowing smile, something, unfortunately, women admit well before the male machismo.
I then recalled our wedding day, a less than pompous affair goaded by my desire to have a small non-catered affair. Originally we planed a simple day with a few close family and friends. Unfortunately it got out of control when parents added so-in-so and expanded it from simple - into a gala.
I called off the event, causing a certain disdain from a future father-in-law who had already booked a hall I never heard of, in a place and format I could never stomach.
Months later I looked at future Wife Patti and said, let’s get married in two weeks. No pretentious invitations, simplicity was the goal. We hurriedly decided to get hitched by a justice of the peace at her grandfather’s summer cabin near Canadice Lake in a place called Springwater.
The date and location were set, only 50 people attended. Bill was in charge of bringing the keg, hots and hamburgers were the delicacy du jour. No elaborate wedding dress, flowers, tuxedo were ever thought of. Wife Patti bought a dress at JC Penney’s. I wore a suit off the rack. Guests were asked to wear summer leisure clothes and I was in blue jeans 15 minutes before the ceremony and 15 minutes after all the whoopla.
Some of my fellow workmates at the time threw me head-first into the cabin’s stocked pond and after a few hours of shits and giggles we were ready to head home. But wait, we have to take a picture of the married couple by the outhouse!
We fondly remember that day and I recall just how beautiful Wife Patti looked in that unpretentious JC Penney dress.
It is closing on 50 years since that day in August and after all the time and after viewing the “Women of the 60s-70s and what they look like now”, I still look at my aging body and that of my beautiful bride and smile. How lucky can a guy get. Unlike many of the 60s and 70s friends and family, divorce was never on the table, or ever brought up, even during tough times. Even today we see the real beauty in each other. Flab and hair changes really mean nothing in the long run. Those “Women of the 60s-70s and what they look like now”, along with these two aging 70-year olds have only changed for the better. ‘Aged’ progression has a way of discerning real beauty.