My Love Life Has Officially Bottomed Out

Today during the four hours of doing PA (Producer’s Assistant) work for one of the senior student film projects, I was, in the latter half of the casting day, entertaining the actors as they waited to audition. Since most of the actors had come during the first two hours of casting, this consisted of the much simpler task of sitting and chatting with a young single attractive 27 year old gentleman. We had been chatting and joking around for the better part of a half hour when another actor showed up with his wife (they were both in their 80s) to audition for another part. Since the 27-year-old was waiting for the actress who was auditioning opposite him, I showed the older gentleman in to the casting room and returned to the hall to wait with the young man and the elderly woman. We talked for a few more minutes when the young actress showed up to play opposite him. At this point, as I was signing in the girl, the elderly woman motioned for me to come talk to her in private. I had no idea what she wanted. She had said she was just there for moral support for her husband. But I went and sat next to her and asked her what she needed. The following appalling conversation ensued.

Old Lady: “Are you seeing anyone, honey?”

Me: “Uh, no.”

Old Lady: “Wonderful! Because I have a son who’s single and never been married and I think you would be just perfect for him! He’s such a nice boy and he’s got lots of money” (here I look around to see make sure this isn’t a prank or something) “and he has a lovely house with a swimming pool! I think he’d like you very much! Would you be at all interested?”

What is one supposed to say? Probably not what I did say.

Me: “Um. I can give you my phone number. . . .” I proceeded to write my cell number on the back of some scrap of paper from her purse. Stupid? Very.

Old Lady: “Oh lovely! He’s such a nice young gentleman and he’s got lots of money.” I started wondering if I looked like the gold-digger type. Unfortunately for me I didn’t ask the vital question until after I had written down my number and handed it back to the lady.

Me: “Um. How old is your son?”

Old Lady: “Forty.”

I kid you not.

I credit myself with extreme self-composure as I sat quietly taking in the fact that I had just given out my phone number—my REAL phone number—to some batty old lady who was now going to give my phone number—my REAL phone number—to her forty-year-old wealthy bachelor son who had a nice house with a swimming pool. Thanks be to heaven that her husband came out at that moment and away they went together.

Do I honestly look like the appropriate companion to a forty-year-old man? I’m twenty-two! Twenty-two!!! I go for nice, artistic, intelligent guys with or without money who are, oddly enough, in my age range!!! Forty is not in my age range.

I don’t think love lives get any worse. I think I’ll go home and put cucumbers on my eyes.