While at the grocery store looking at various meats (no, that's not the joke. Stop it), I overheard a conversation between two gentlemen.
One of them was a store employee and they obviously knew one another. They exchanged pleasantries, talked about a sports team and then, somehow, the conversation came around to women. Seriously, like within three minutes. It was kind of amazing.
"The problem with getting older," the one man said to the other, "is that women don't like my swag anymore."
I smiled to myself, mostly because it's always hilarious to hear someone in their fifties talk about their "swag", but also because...I get it.
I'm not looking for a man (and thank you Jesus I'm not because the very thought of that absolutely exhausts me) but I imagine if I was it wouldn't be any easier for me now than it was fifteen years ago. I don't think many people would be impressed by my "swag" either. My baking skills, perhaps. This stubborn belly fat, my caffeine consumption, the fact that I'm a workaholic, my collection of Star Wars t-shirts, and my therapy bills? Unlikely. No one wants any of that mess.
I walked by the men and the store employee gave me a big smile and said, "How are you today ma'am?"
I was better before he called me "ma'am" frankly, but I returned his smile, just as brightly, and said, "I'm doing great, hope you are as well."
As I made my way down the aisle, I heard the other man say to the employee, "Yep. You still got it."
That made me smile again. Maybe even bigger than before.