The Rittenhouse Review

A Philadelphia Journal of Politics, Finance, Ethics, and Culture

Tuesday, September 19, 2006  

Growing Older

I know the feeling, even if I'm not sure Rupert Everett is being entirely honest here:

Unfortunately, I am single. But I'm too exhausted for anything else and being gay is a young man's game. Now no one wants me. Being gay and being a woman has one big thing in common, which is that we both become invisible after the age of 42. Who wants a gay 50-year-old? No one, let me tell you. I could set myself on fire in a gay bar, and people would just light their cigarettes from me. I don't want to be carried out of a club wearing a tie-dye T-shirt and a cap on the wrong way round when I'm 70, but I would like to settle down a bit. Maybe with a partner.

I often think he might be right, and given we're "roughly" the same age -- actually, I'm significantly younger, relatively speaking, as he is now 47 -- I also like to think Rupert and I are competing on something like the same level.

But then, I'm more of a pessimist than he apparently is.

And I'm much better looking.

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