Weekends have always been a bit confusing for me, like most mothers, I cannot wait to send the kids off anywhere, but the minute they are gone, I’m never quite sure what to do with myself.
I call my friend Reem, secretly hoping she will plan something, secretly hoping she won’t so I can resume my usual routine of absolutely nothing. She suggests we meet up for a quick bite, “In!” I squeal.
We arrive at the usual spot. I look around and recognize no one. I sigh, I am so bored already. To liven things up I decide to share my latest news about Rashed. “He wants to get back together? So he’s done with his flings and just expects you to come running? Majnoun!” I make a joke that I haven’t whipped out my Nikes just yet, but that I was thinking about it. Is that bad? “Noor, listen to me. You do not want to be married again. You barely made it the first time, khalas!” I am too scared to correct her. “Do you really miss having in-laws, a cheating husband, feeling trapped, the misery of it all?” Those parts I did not miss. “Just find someone to keep you company, keep it light and uncomplicated.” Well then it was settled, I was going to let loose, no strings attached, casual, just breezy. “Also, you may want to show some more cleavage.” And with that I was off.
I scour the bar one more time and make out a single familiar face. I walk over and introduce myself. He smiles, his forehead is crease free, he is possibly more than a few years younger than me. I tell myself I am confident, beautiful, in control, just like my motivational books had instructed me. I open with a less than demure, “I’m sure we’ve met, I just can’t remember where, I’m Noor.” He responds and the conversation gradually shifts to not bad at all.
Flash forward three hours later and the verdict is out: younger men are the best; boisterous, cool, their taste in politics and fashion might be works in progress but they are just so easy to be around, I could get used to this.
My friend swoops in, announcing that it’s time to leave. I say good night, he grabs my arm, leans over, and softly whispers, “I love those cute wrinkles around your eyes.”
My jaw drops. I am a daughter, a wife, a mother, a woman with an overwhelming amount of responsibilities, but never an older woman.
And that is a title I am struggling to accept.
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