I’m Not Playing Hard to Get, I’m Just Tired

(Midlife Dating, Fatigue, and the Decline of Libido… I Mean, Patience.)

Let me be clear: I’m not ignoring your texts because I’m mysterious. I’m not “playing it cool” or creating intrigue. I’m literally horizontal, in pajamas I’ve had since Obama was in office, watching a crime documentary I’ve already seen three times.

I’m not hard to get. I’m just hard to impress, hard to schedule, and mentally exhausted from decades of dating dysfunction.

You want me to be flirty and spontaneous? Babe, I have teen-tards, a job, multiple autoimmune issues, and a thyroid that gave up in 2022. My idea of spontaneous is deciding to eat cereal for dinner instead of cheese, crackers and wine.

And don’t even get me started on dating apps. I’m not swiping left or right. I’m swiping up to close the app and preserve my last 4% of emotional bandwidth.

You say: “Let’s meet for a drink.”

I say: “Will there be seating?”

Look, if your idea of a first date is “grabbing drinks at 10pm,” I hope you find the 25-year-old version of me that used to think that sounded fun.

This version of me wants to know:

• Is there back support?

• How’s the lighting?

• What’s the bathroom situation like?

• Do they have a menu?

This is not me being high maintenance. This is me being perimenopausal with acute physical, mental, emotional and social fatigue.

Flirting with me now sounds like:

“I brought you coffee and Advil.”

“I canceled my plans so we can do nothing together.”

“You’re right, your ex was an emotionally unavailable man-child.”

“I preheated the oven for your frozen pizza.”

“You seemed stressed so I didn’t call you.” (Hot.)

What I would like in a partner:

• Emotional intelligence

• Some sort of retirement plan

• A car with functioning A/C

• The ability to reply to a text without asking me to “send a pic tho 😏”

Bonus points if they can spell “you” and “are” in full. We’re not 13.

So no, I’m not playing hard to get. I’m just trying to remember if I took my supplements. Waiting for my shoulder to unlock. And too tired to pretend I’m chill, sexy, and mysterious when I’m really just a hormonal woman wearing pajama pants and wondering if this guy has mommy issues.

Dating in midlife isn’t a game. It’s a scavenger hunt for someone who’s kind, available, and knows the difference between chemistry and chaos. And if that’s too much to ask?

I’m quite content being single.