The Anatomy Of A Mid Life Crisis – Why Nasal Hair Is Actually Your Best Friend When You Hit Your Forties
Tradition dictates that once time has taken a large enough bite out of a man’s Forties, he has to do something weird. It’s usually something hackneyed and clichéd, but it will always be weird. Purely by the dint of the fact that it’s a man in his Forties doing it. I’m 45 now. So I guess it’s time. Time to kick off my mid-life crisis.
It’s big decision for a man. What stupid, fucked up thing am I going to do before I finally accept the fact that I’m not a spring chicken anymore and just get on with actually enjoying the many benefits that being middle aged brings? The main benefit being that people automatically assume you know what you’re talking about on certain subjects. Though admittedly, those subjects tend to be things like gardening, wine and architecture. They’re unlikely to trust your opinion on subjects such parkour, snowboarding or mobile phone apps.
So, what do I do? I can’t use the traditional starting point, getting divorced, because I’m not married. Besides, I’ve already been divorced. Wife left me: check. Lost my house: check. Rented a box room from a stranger and lived in it with my meagre possessions for a year before I could afford to rent a house of my own: check. Got all of that shit out of the way by the time I was 28, so that boat has well and truly sailed.
I suppose I could go out and buy a sports car. That would be a bit pointless though, even as Mid Life Crises go because I’ve never got around to learning how to drive. I’ve always had a wife or a girlfriend with a car or lived in a place where you don’t really need one. Besides, I couldn’t afford one anyway, not even on finance.
There’s always being unfaithful with a younger woman, but that option has a snag too. A couple of snags in fact. Firstly, I don’t want to be unfaithful. Secondly, my current missus is only 31, so I’ve already got a younger woman anyway.
If I were inclined to go down the route of infidelity- which I’m not- my prospective affair would have to be with a girl in her mid-twenties for it to count as an affair with a significantly younger woman than my current squeeze. This would also be a problem. I find most women in their early twenties – and most men for that matter- intensely annoying. They’re all so obsessed with things that I no longer give a shit about. Fashion, music, personal grooming etc etc. I don’t think I could gloss over my irritation for long enough to maintain an erection and do the dirty deed. And you can’t have angry revenge sex with someone who hasn’t done anything bad to you yet. Well, some people can, but not me.
Then there’s the nuclear option. The one guaranteed to ruin your life and obliterate any shreds of respect your friends and colleagues may have had for you. Fuck a teenager. I think I could convincingly present the argument to my missus that teenagers aren’t real people yet anyway and therefore it technically wouldn’t count. Naturally, I would hide all the carving knives and make sure she wasn’t near anything remotely heavy or pointy when I did this.
The town I live in is ringed by military bases and that means lots of young girls with Daddy Issues. It would be a piece of piss to score in the poorly lit local cattle market. And what man wouldn’t want to do a teenage girl? They’re lithe, they’re pert and, despite the fact they think they know everything, they’re actually laughably naïve.
Well, I wouldn’t for one. Even if I was unattached and didn’t care about being branded a dirty old man, I just couldn’t take the risk. Maybe it’s macular degeneration starting to kick in, but I can’t even begin to guess how old a girl is until she’s at least 24.
The town I live in has a College and a Private Girls’ School. During the summer months, I like to sit on the steps of the library, read my newspaper and watch the world go by. Some of the world that walks past me is in the form of girls from the College. You can tell they’re girls from the college because they wear laminated ID badges on bright orange lanyards. The minimum entry age for the College is 16, which also happens to be the age of consent in England. To me though, some of these girls look like they’re twelve or thirteen, tops.
Conversely, there’s often Sixth Formers from the Girls’ School milling about. And some of them, if they were not wearing school uniforms and clutching A4 binders across their chests, I would estimate to be in their late twenties or early thirties. Though maybe that has more to do with the cushiness of the College curriculum and the harshness of the Private School regime than with my lack of accurate age perception.
I’m not alone in this. Look at Kevin Spacey in “American Beauty”. He spent weeks getting himself in shape and seducing the teenage Mena Suvari who was actually 20 at the time and made a good living presenting herself as a teenage temptress up until she was about 27, when she rather inexplicably started shaving her head. Despite the fact that she’s got a very high forehead and it makes her look really fucking odd.
Mr Spacey eventually did the right thing in that movie, though it was a close run thing. He got his brains blown out anyway due to a sub-plot he hadn’t been paying attention to. But at least he could console himself with the fact he was just a man who got his brains blown out and not a dirty old man who got his brains blown out.
Fortunately for any man who might be tempted to try to make infidelity with younger women the central theme of his Mid Life Crisis, nature has provided safety mechanism to protect them from themselves. Nasal hair. It’s gnarly and disgusting and seems to be able to sprout overnight, no matter how much you try to trim it. It’s a very effective passion killer. As your memory has already started to go a bit, you will forget to trim it, no matter how many young bits of fluff you feel compelled to try to sleep with. It’s nature’s signpost that says “Warning! Stale Sperm!” With a bit of luck, it will put the girls off no matter how hard you hit the gym or how often you slather your face with Q10 cream.
So, when it comes to a Mid-Life Crisis, it’s best for a man to avoid infidelity with young and impressionable girls. In fact, it’s best to avoid the infidelity thing altogether. You can’t hide those carving knives from your other half forever. Buy a sports car if you like, but bear in mind it will make you look like a bit of a dick. It’s probably best to just get an unusual hobby to bore people to death with. I’ve taken up reality based martial arts. Three times a week I meet interesting new people and we kick the shit out of each other. It’s a bit like Fight Club, but in a well lit, well ventilated room rather than a dingy, Mafia owned basement. Trust me, it’s a lot safer than any of the other options available to me.
© Copyright Michael Grimes 2014
Tags: Age Of Consent, American Beauty, angry revenge sex, architecture, carving knives, college, daddy issues, England, Fashion, fight club, Forties, friends, Gardening, infidelity, irritation, Kevin Spacey, macular degeneration, mafia, martial arts, Mena Suvari, Mid Life Crises, Mid life crisis, middle age, military bases, mobile phone apps, music, nature, parkour, Personal Grooming, private girls school, Private School, reality based martial arts, Revenge, revenge sex, sixth formers, snowboarding, sports cars, sub plots, teenage temptress, teenagers, The nuclear option, tradition, weird, Wine, younger women
About thedailygrimeAt that awkward age - too young to be a grumpy old man, but just acerbic and downtrodden enough to have an opinion. Read it here.
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