Sahara

I was out to dinner the other night with E, C, and K. We were having our usual girlish chatter about life and love, and the recently-turned-29 E was talking about her wild escapades with a 24-year-old (ah, to be 29 again). C and K are happily coupled, and didn't have much to offer, but I somewhat tearfully said, "Oh E....my little girl's all grown up....you remind me of myself when I was your age.*"

But then the conversation took an unexpected turn. Mid-sentence, E started saying things like, "I want to have a baby in the next two years. I want to get pregnant soon."

My understanding of E fell off the table. Why have a baby when you're having 24-year-olds?

Then she said, "Do you know how long it's been since I've had sex? Since Thanksgiving!!!"

I paused for a moment's thought. Wasn't Thanksgiving just four weeks ago? "Thanksgiving of what year?" I said.

Then it struck me that this is the thing that separates single women in their late 20s from single women in their 30s. Four weeks seems like an eternity in your 20s, and it's merely a series of trips to Blockbuster in your 30s. Four weeks? I could do four weeks in my sleep! (Preferably in high-thread-count Egyptian cotton.) But it isn't a shift in desire or desireability; I know I'm entering my sexual prime; and I know I could get sex in a matter of days (hours, hell, minutes) if I really wanted it (see: Bachelor #1; also see random drunk friend who was hitting on me in the restaurant for the third time). But the thought of ripping off my clothes in a drunken haze with someone I don't really like -- and we women in our 30s know that, contrary to the movies, drunken one-night-stands are almost always dreadful -- leaves me feeling a bit queasy. You wake up feeling more lonely and lustful than you were the night before.

The next morning, I was talking with my friend, L, over coffee. L is an attractive single woman in her 40s. I told her the story of E, and she said, "It's closed for the season. What's the point of opening up shop for a few hours only to have to close it back down again? It's not worth it for one quick sale."

As tempting as the thought is of going to the pub round the corner for a little action, I know she's right. So I'll let my 20-something friends live my former life on my behalf and find contentment in my present life on my own. Even if it's at Blockbuster.

*Note: The second such ideas start spilling from your cocktail-filled mouth, it is best to go out and get yourself a date, a haircut, a new pair of shoes, or failing all of that: a puppy.