For a woman, one clear sign that you’re getting older is when you start noticing admiring glances from young men—at your daughters.
As the mom and stepmom of three very pretty girls, I got used to this one some time ago. It doesn’t bother me. I may be a mature woman of a certain age, but I’m not anywhere close to being over the hill. I know how to handle encounters of my own.
Such as one that happened several years ago. My late husband’s construction company was working on a job in Minnesota. They needed a new pickup, and my husband found a used Dodge in Illinois that met his specifications. He flew me there and dropped me off to drive the pickup back to the jobsite.
It was a beautiful truck, only a year old, without a scratch or dent anywhere—one sleek ton of gleaming black and gray powered by a rumbling Cummins diesel engine. The seller had cleaned and polished it inside and out until it sparkled. It even smelled new.
The financial details taken care of, I climbed in, adjusted the seat as far forward as it would go, and roared off toward the Interstate. With the power I had under the hood, the six-hour trip across Wisconsin and half of Minnesota was a piece of cake. It was late afternoon when I pulled into the parking lot of our motel, shut off the ignition, and let the truck rumble into silence.
As I got out and stretched, I noticed several young guys across the parking lot, obviously construction workers just getting off for the day. They were looking in my direction, with admiration, longing, and more than a touch of desire. I wasn’t shocked; I wasn’t offended. Instead, my reaction was smug satisfaction. I thought, Don’t even think about it, guys. What I have here is way out of your league.
As a woman of experience, it was obvious to me what they wanted.
I knew they were looking at my truck.