The New Dating Game

This topic heading, posted on the local newspaper's discussion forum among more ordinary subjects like bridge closings and city council candidates, stood out like a full moon in a clear sky.

The writer was a mid-thirtyish woman who had looked for love everywhere and had yet to find it, whose fun came only on the occasional girls-night-out (that is, a gathering of single females who also can't connect with a guy).

A few days earlier, I had heard a stand-up comedienne, of the new breed who think "comedy" means whine about everything, whine about being single. Still without a significant other; washed up at 36.

"The Romance Of Helen Trent" was a daytime serial on radio in the 1940s and 50s. Helen Trent was on a mission to prove that, "although a woman is 35 -- or older -- romance in life need not be over." She always had a boyfriend, though. No man, no plot; no plot, no show.

The vicinity of 35 thus represents a cutoff point; the line between possible and "oh, I'm still looking . . . "

Do you have kids? someone finally asked. Yes, was the reply. Living at home.

Aah-ha.

For men, in the place today's world has become, kids -- especially kids living at home -- are a huge red flag. She is the kids' mommy, but the man isn't their father. They owe him nothing. Kids and Mommy also have a way of closing ranks that freezes out any and all outsiders.

What is there to stop kids, jealous of the attention Mommy's new friend gets, tell a teacher -- or maybe that nice policeman that came to school -- that Mommy's new friend touched them in a place he shouldn't have, or showed them some bad pictures he keeps in a secret place on his computer?

The man's word against theirs, and today the kids win every time. Throw in Mommy, and the legal system, and the man can start thinking about who he might draw for a cellmate.

Few men who consider entering such a relationship realize how stacked the deck is against them from the start. Few women on the other side of mid-thirties, with kids in the picture, realize how tough a sell they can be.

Mike Brady met Carol, whose maiden name we never learned, and they knew that it was much more than a hunch, but that was then, when people were a lot less cynical and a lot less eager to stick labels on each other.

Yet they keep trying, encouraged by daytime TV and romance novels and magazines for both sexes that tell them they're less than whole without a mate, that promise incredible results if the reader will only follow the simple advice delivered by a writer who has already won the dating game ("Don't give up! Someone is waiting to meet YOU!").

(The ones I feel sorry for, sometimes, are those who post in their ads "my kids are my life" or "my family is my life." With competition like that, who's going to write them?)

The intimacy and trust required to make any relationship -- dating, marriage, family, or just friends -- work takes a lifetime to grow and set in place. The older you get, the less time there is. And instant families just don't work in real life like they did on TV for Mike and Carol Brady.

Past 35? There might still be a chance. Past 40? Forget it. There just isn't time. Past 50? You'll both be almost 80 by the time you really get to know each other.

And the good men? They're still out there. Just a lot more wary these days.

Ms. Mid-Thirties finally declared that she would soon begin a search for the perfect boy-toy. I extended my best wishes for a successful hunt, and good luck, and added that, from her description of what she expected in a relationship, she would need it.