Forgotten Singles

 When we think of singles, we imagine small quirky apartments with new age furnishings, bits of bright art, small angular rugs, open shelves filled with the latest novels, hand blown glass, chunky ceramics and with nothing much in the kitchenette to do with actual cooking. Usually, there is a coat rack near the door filled with the latest Northernish sports wear and down on the floor that seldom sees leather shoes,  is an assortment of expensive jog sneakers tossed in a casual heap. We don't see a familiar old recliner, maybe a couple of doilies, lots of family photos, a wee kitchen with an ever present jar of cookies, cute salt and pepper shakers and everything shiny, gleaming and clean. There is no pile of shoes or anything but slipppers that are worn due to the kindness their wearer to neighbours below. Who are the latter apartment dwellers? They are the elder widows who once nursed, taught, clerked and secretaried, house and garden owned women who mothered and babysat for her own kids and then became widow or divorcee. She didn't go back to marriage but dreams softly  of her wedding that happened once. She was young. Once. We don't see the little book with lines denoting her every dollar sign, even though she has "that" program on her computer. She likes, rather, her own slow pencil that she can trust and that doesn't need an outlet or a battery. She has learned to trust only herself first, no matter her loved ones, because she knows that "they have a life of their own". Society forgets her because she lives alone, not lonely, quietly and carefully, dutifully and morally. Where are the old guys her age, she'd love to date or be a companion with? Ha! They are married to their new young wives who coo over them and wear their Mrs credit cards. Would be nice, the elder bachelorette thinks, if I had two pensions going on in my life but no one wants old ladies. Their wrinkles aren't "interesting" like those of the other sex who have converted into those jazzy old guys and their gals in sports cars. But never mind, she thinks, I can do what I want, when I want, with whom I want, and how I want. But still, it would be nice to have a warm, cosy time sitting on my couch with a nice, old chap to laugh over a black and whiter on TV this evening.