Muy Suave

 Herself speaks.

After watching No Time To Die recently, Beloved Husband and I decided to plow our way through all of the James Bond movies. There are many. We've watched all of the ones from the 1960s so far, and it's easy to see the roots of the stereotypical themes of James Bond starting to form: the snazzy cars, the posh clothes, the mandatory chase across some exotic locale, the snappy dialog, the beginnings of fancy gadgets, and above all, the beautiful and ever-so-willing young women whom James Bond easily woos with his words and his physical prowess. It is all a little over the top, and a little silly. Sometimes, though, his one-liners to the women are just so suave. 

I think back just a wee bit wistfully to years and years ago when I was young, taut, and cute enough that the occasional man would try a line on me. I always struggled with flirting (in part because I was never quite sure whether a statement constituted flirtation or not) but every now and then, it was clear enough that even I could tell what the point of the conversation was. It would generate a tiny little boost of self-confidence.  

It was always a double-edged sword, though -- was someone interested in me as a person, or just me as a warm body? Young women of my generation were taught to be gatekeepers to physical contact, and as a result we were often both frustrated and distrustful. Raised with the statement, "Men only want one thing" ringing our ears; we felt suspicious and guilty, all at once. 

In this time of middle age, I find myself wondering: what was so terrible about the idea of young women enjoying their bodies (whether alone or with someone else), that we were discouraged from doing so? I was fortunate enough to grow up in an age with birth control, so unwanted pregnancy was more easily preventable and not real the issue. There is something else there. Society doesn't smile upon independent, free-thinking women, not then, nor even now. And back then, it was positively shocking -- and punishable in James Bond movies by being quickly discarded, or by meeting an untimely demise shortly after a physical encounter. Oh, dear. That's a primitive morality tale that we would be better off without. 

This is all a theoretical/mental exercise now, though. Middle age has taken me firmly out of flirtatious-comment territory (as has the 30-year-old ring on my left hand). I am left to hear flirtation vicariously through James Bond movies. Alas. 

Oh, well. Onward we go, in invisible-middle-aged-woman-land. 

Only another couple of decades more until I enter old-woman-harmless-flirtation territory. You know it well from movies and TV: the sort of flirtation that young orderlies use with gray-haired, hunchbacked little old ladies as they ferry them through medical facilities. 

Things to look forward to!