THE BLOG
12/14/2010 10:39 am ET Updated May 25, 2011

I'm Looking for the Right Woman

Everything is possible at any age. I'm seventy-three and I want to be a movie star. I want fame, fortune and love. I want it all. Is love possible in this Viagra generation where men take Viagra like candy?

After sixty everyone expects you to get some Botox, and go on an AARP singles cruise to Alaska and play bingo. That's okay, but there's so much more to aging; it's about beginning, making old and new dreams come true. I place ads on the singles sites and meet boomer guys, all kinds, shapes, sizes, all wanting to go to Viagra Falls. So far great material, but no undying love. Still, I refuse to give up my dream of finding undying love.

I can't find the phone. It's ringing. It's been ringing for ten minutes. It's tied with a long red string but I can't see the string. Am I losing it? Forgetting things more than usual? Keys? Losing the television remote and for days the television on? Leaving my bankcard in the ATM machine and forgetting my pin numbers? Calling Uncle Bud, Uncle Duck.

I find the red string and answer the phone. "Barbara? My name is Phil Kaplan. I'm answering your match.com ad. "

"Oh yes," I say, recalling that he's a seventy -five year old shrink and author of the bestselling book Happiness. We talk for a moment and we agree to meet at Starbucks.

"You'll know me," he says. " They say I look like a Jewish Harrison Ford."

I arrive at Starbucks. I sit in the back, facing the door, sipping my iced decaf Americana with an inch of soy foam on top.

A giant size man shuffles towards me. No way Harrison Ford. He has a mass of puffed salt and pepper loopy hair, bulging suspicious eyes and huge salacious lips. We shake hands. He gets a latte and we start talking.

Mostly he talks about himself; he was on Dr. Phil and is going on Oprah soon. He complains that his third ex-wife Inga looks like Pamela Anderson and ran off with her Feng Shui guy, and that finding the "right" woman is difficult.

"The women say they're sixty and I meet them and they're ninety-two. They have back problems, knee problems, humps on their backs, and they're looking for a schmuck like me to take care of them."

He frowns. "Do you rent or own?"

"I'm not applying for a job."

"Netflix?"

"Yes. I love film," I reply.

"Lipitor?"

"Forty Milligrams. Do you take Viagra?" I ask, thinking he's a case. Still, I'm oddly attracted. Chemistry has no scruples.

"Don't need it," he replies, smiling. He reveals even small teeth.

"So let's get married," I say.

"Dinner tomorrow night?" he asks. " I make a mean brisket."

"Sure."

"Seven o'clock. My place."

To be continued.