Holding Forth no image

Published on May 1st, 2014 | by Richard Black


The Theory of Evolution a.k.a. How the Elderly and Homely Get Laid

I can’t say that I became a firm believer in the theory of evolution the first time I had sex but if I’d been questioning the issue that one glorious, awkward and incredibly brief encounter would have tipped the scales.  On the other hand the girl involved interpreted the event a bit differently and chose to join the convent shortly thereafter.

I can’t say that I blame her. When it comes down to the mechanics of the physical act of love sex is pretty gross. Aside from a higher power or countless millions of years of internal wiring through evolution there really isn’t any way I’d willingly stick the most sensitive part of my body into anything and that includes a melon warmed for 20 seconds in the microwave no matter what you’ve heard from my mother.

To imagine sex from the female point of view is really where I’m coming from, no pun intended.

Men are pretty homely, “utilitarian” is probably the kindest adjective I can think of regarding the male form. I’m not saying that can’t pick out a good looking guy in a crowd. Ryan Gosling is quite the looker as is Gabriel Byrne. I can look at Michelangelo’s David, appreciate the beauty of the sculpture, feel reassured about my own endowment and never have any desire to stick anything betwixt a man’s butt cheeks.

Aside from the matter of attraction there’s the actual act.

If I were to tell the average woman that I’d like to slobber over them while we wrestled around naked for a few minutes before I dumped an ounce and a half of something that looked life dish detergent into their cervix I’d probably end up in jail.

And still women continue to have sex with men.

A higher power could certainly be involved. It may be God or Yahweh or even Ganesha. They all seem to have their hand involved in procreation but I prefer to believe that my luck with the ladies attributable to liberal amounts of vodka, daddy issues, a healthy dose of poor judgement and a relentless set of genes. It’s how I landed my wife after all.

I become a more fervent believer in the theory of natural selection the older I get and not just because I enjoy a good humping every once in a while.

A few days ago I was washing dishes for the 18th time in the morning and I took a good, hard look at my pruny, wrinkled hands and promptly had a stiff drink.  Being a stay at home father I have always understood that, in addition to raising our daughter and keeping house, I’m expected to be a bit of a catch. A bit of eye candy for the forty somethings.

Instead of panicking I had another drink and sent then another one down for recon to find out the whereabouts of the other.  By the time I’d received a report Laura was home and I served us all a healthy dinner of whole wheat toast before shuffling them both off to bed for the night.

And it was at that point I made a poor decision. I had a few more drinks to bolster my fragile emotional state and too a good hard look at my decrepit my body.

Many, many years ago I used to think of myself as a relatively attractive man. Coming up on 40 I feel fairly certain that my chances of attracting anyone of the opposite sex are about as low as they can get. I’d put better odds on me getting out of Haiti alive if I parachuted into Port Au Prince with a sandwich stapled to my forehead at high noon than attracting anyone of the opposite sex.

The hair on my calves is gone. I never really thought I’d miss them but there it is. After wearing pants and socks for years I’m stuck with two drumsticks that would look better on a Kenny Rogers ten pound fryer. Let that be a lesson to the youngsters in my audience. Go nude or go home. I’ve seen better legs on Pre-Soviet East German Olympiads than when I look in a mirror. More hair too.

Most days I’ve got bags under my eyes I could hide a few pot roasts under if I took to shoplifting. And then there’s my hair. RIP my beautiful hair. A twelve pack into my inventory I finally managed to gather the courage to look at the top of my head and promptly wrote a memo to the groundkeeper in charge of my pate to raise the blades on the mower.

I won’t even go into the other derelict patches of hair on my shoulders, back and ears that spring up like I’m some sort of half assed werewolf. If I could patent a procedure to transplant unwanted body hair onto a man’s head then I’d be a wealthy man with a full head of hair.

Suffice it to say that on the best of days I find that I am mildly repulsive at best and the knowledge that it’s only downhill from here is enough to make me ransack the medicine cabinet for out of date prescriptions and cough syrup.

Despite my physical decline  my wife still claims that she finds me attractive, a statement I find baffling and that leads me to one of three conclusions.

1. Women and/or my wife are legally blind

2. God wants me to be with my wife for the betterment of myself and society or,

3. My wife is compelled to find me attractive through a neurochemical response that has been honed through countless years of…you guessed it…natural selection.

In all fairness all three could be true. My wife hasn’t had her eyes checked for some time and while I haven’t done anything incredibly detrimental to society at large there is a chance that a higher power may have some hope that I will accomplish some good in my twilight years.

More than likely however I believe this to be a hormonal response, my wife’s that is, not my own. The chances that Laura and I will have another child are roughly those of me taking part in the next Ironman competition which may seem to conflict with evolution but there is our daughter to consider.

Darcy is only four after all and most mammals, primates specifically, raise and care for their young ones until they’re able to fend for themselves. From my limited understanding keeping an aging 40 year old man around deters various predators; lions, bears, and Ted Nugent from eating one’s progeny until the child is ready to go out into the wild.

The long and short of it is that once Darcy is able to wield a knife and solve quadratic equations I need to step it up to keep the wife around which is why I began a vigorous regimen of self abuse and exercise in the first place.


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