The Moment of Truth

Many years ago, a wise friend, about ten years my senior, said to me:

The moment of truth comes in an elevator. You find yourself in an elevator with a really beautiful woman. She’s young, she’s gorgeous, she’s unescorted… and she strikes up a conversation with you. Instead of just riding silently, staring at the doors, she starts talking.

Do you know what that means? He asked, shaking his head.

It means you’re safe. You are no threat. You are old enough that there is nothing sexual left about you — no potential, no interest, no basic humanity — there is nothing left of you in her view except that you have expired… and therefore it is safe to have a conversation.

I think I laughed at the time, which now I regret.

I think it was about four or five years later…

I used to work on the 7th floor of an office building that had a modeling agency on the 4th floor. Pretty girls were very much a constant of the trip up. One day, I was about to head up when someone caught the door in the lobby and squeaked in. Six feet tall in heels. Brown hair to mid-back. Flawless makeup. Little black dress at 7:00 in the morning. Figure from a photo-shoot.

She smiled at me and asked if I didn't think it was the nicest day so far of the summer.

And I thought: I have expired.

I was reminded of this story today, when a tartlet at the lunchtime beach chose to plant her bikini-bared bottom about two feet in front of my face while I sat on my usual bench. No notion that the grey-haired rock on the shoreline would take any notice at all.

Fortunately, there is one in my life who knows I am still sentient :o) That makes all the difference.