Quality not quantity…

Watching the grey January, dusk just falling over the countryside slide by my train window, my mind wandered.  I had made a killer mix for my ipod (One Night Only, Friendly Fires, Laura Maling, The Magnetic Fields) for the trip up to Cambridge to see my cougar girlfriend.  The last time I went to Cambridge was in July and I was completely moon-pied over Beautiful Boy.  And then I thought about how he was the first toyboy that really made me think and think hard (I met him before I met you Fiesty, but you made me think too and I know your ego is so big you can hardly walk around with it this stage, but struggle on handsome, struggle on).

So there I was on the way to Cambridge deciding weather I should become a paying member or just stop all this toyboy business.  Then it dawned on me that it has been almost a year since I put up my profile.  Time for a little recap…

What’s that you ask?  Ah, what brought me, two stone overweight, with a fading tan one Tuesday morning in a big suburban house in West London, still wearing my Boden flip flops from stepping off the plane at Heathrow to the Warehouse?

Well, the tan was fading because Mr. Magnolia and I had just gotten home from our mid winter week in the Caribbean.  Sand.  Sailing.  Sun (wasn’t there supposed to be a fourth ‘S’ in there…?). In theory a great escape from grey old London in the middle of January.  Note I said in theory.  We were having so much fun that on the first day we weren’t sailing, I walked two miles from the hotel into town in 110 degree (yes, farenheit) heat to buy a deck of cards.  Yes, folks and neighbors, things were so bad all we could do was play Gin Rummy on the beach and get drunk everyday.

Well, sugar, to come back from that holiday and read about Toyboywarehouse in the Style section of the Times …. well it wasn’t helpful.  Or – maybe it was.

So, sitting on the train looking out the window, I thought about the toyboys (a special thank you to Beautiful Boy, Feisty and a certain Artist for helping me grow some balls to fix my marriage or get out of it).  I thought about some of the super divine women I have met since I singed up a year ago (Julia, Wendy, Bridget and the woman at the last TBW party that I swear knows the best place in London for a blow dry).  I thought about the two stone I’ve lost.  I thought about having dinner with an old colleague from my investment banking days who hadn’t seen my in five years.  He didn’t recognize me at first.  He did a double take.  Wow.  I’m still a little punch drunk from that particular evening.

And what have I learned?  That this last year hasn’t been about toyboys.  Its been more about growing up.  What I do know after all these months is that, if this toyboy experiment has proved anything, its about settling for more, not less out of the life we choose to live.

And what has the older woman experiment taught you boys? Well, I hope lots of things.  What were we to you over the last year?  What will we be to you in the future?

A muse.
A fantasy.
A lover.
A friend.
A confident.
A mentor.
A playmate.

God, maybe all of those.  What a glorious thought.  Surely, you’re attracted to us (oh, dear, sometimes threatened by us too, and vice versa let’s be honest, but that is what keeps us coming back, n’est pa?) because we have been there, done that and got the tshirt.  It gives us something you can’t quite put your finger on, even though you think you can…


One of my girlfriends has tried every dating site out there and the stories she has told me!    Her profile is fantastic.  Funny, self-deprecating and to the point.  None of this ‘I am a fun, fit female looking for a great guy to share my life with’ crap.

From reading her profile you can just tell she is bright and outgoing and has a huge and witty look on life.  Guys contact her because of this and then, get this, say things like, ‘how do I know you’re not 20 stone and the proud owner of 10 cats cause you don’t have a pic up?’ Good Lord, I mean that is just jaded and rude.  Rude. Rude. Rude.  Things like that just don’t seem to happen on TBW (well the sure as hell better not – ya’ll manners don’t cost a dime).

For the price of getting a shape n’ paint at the local nail bar, or mojito in Mayfair or a round of beers at the pub on an average Friday with your mates, I have decided that hell yes I am going to pay up.

I mean have ya’ll looked at the other sites dedicated to toyboys?  I don’t even want to go there and talk about it frankly.  They are just, well, no other word for it, low rent.  But that’s all I’ll say because, I don’t want to slag off the competition, its not ladylike and all that.  But eeeewwwwww.  Just like I would not be caught dead wearing linen before Easter or white trousers after Labour Day Weekend, do you think I would actually be on one of those sites, let alone write for one of those sites?  Erm, that would be a resounding no.

But hey, listen ya’ll, if some of you feel its not worth it becoming a member, then, frankly its ya’ll’s loss.  Will we miss you?  Hmmmmmmmmmm.  Sorry folks, no points for a bare faced pants on fire lie.  We won’t.

So, I’m staying and I’m paying, cause I know a good thing when I see it.

And if by now, ya’ll don’t get how good TBW is and how its only to go on getting better, you never will.

Huge Bobby Ray outside the high school dance kisses to everyone who is staying, can’t wait to meet you.

Mrs. Magnolia


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