Dating late in life is like playing pin-the-tail on the donkey — except now you’re allowed to take off the blindfold. You can see the donkey. You can see the tail. You can even see the fence line and the pasture beyond. The game isn’t about guessing anymore; it’s about choosing.
At least, that’s what I told myself when I met the man known as the “Overcaffeinated Buddhist.” His very name made me swoon. What can I say? I’m a pushover for irony and wordplay, and this charmer rolled them out like a red carpet. I studied the donkey, took aim, and believed I pinned the tail on, clear-eyed. Turns out, I was wearing blinders. He got to be the one to say, “No pinning me down right now; I get to graze.”
I got home, desperate for an audio balm. Enter: “Another One Bites the Dust” by Queen. That thumping bass at the beginning of the song — thump, thump, thump — got to work on my wounded pride. I’d been knocked off-balance, and it steadied me. My shoulders settled. My breath evened out. My adrenaline returned. Then Freddie Mercury’s voice took over with its controlled swagger. I rose from the couch. Got my feet on the ground. And started dancing around the living room, my dignity restored.
Rejection hadn’t flattened me the way it once might have. I’d lived through real heartbreak, after all. If you’re lucky in life, you learn the difference between a bruise and a break. You feel the hit, take a beat and keep moving.
The phrase “another one bites the dust” predates Queen by decades, dating back to Prohibition-era slang when gangsters gunned down their rivals. The slain fell forward with their mouths open, literally biting the dust. It’s exaggerated, almost cartoonishly final. It feels less violent than victorious. Even my peace-loving inner hippie could embrace the song. We all need something to shrink disappointment down to size.
And yet — even with perspective — pride can still get pricked. The Overcaffeinated Buddhist and I bantered so effortlessly, I’d leapt to the wildly optimistic conclusion: boyfriend material. He, on the other hand, had me neatly filed under “friend with benefits.” I like to think I’m beyond humiliation. I’ve survived worse. I know better. But knowing that doesn’t make you immune; it just means you recover faster.
I still had my moment. A brief, undeniable “oof.” The realization that I’d aimed carefully, trusted my judgment and still pinned my hopes to the wrong part of the donkey. That moment arrived in full force at Niagara Falls.
Yup, Niagara Falls. Honeymoon central. Heart-shaped bathtub headquarters. The most aggressively romantic backdrop imaginable. And it was there, of all places, that the Overcaffeinated Buddhist calmly explained that he wanted to be free to date other women.
What?
If my life were a Hollywood musical, this is where the ensemble would have dragged him to the edge of the falls. There would have been a long, meaningful pause. Justice would loom. Would he be dumped over the railing, sent plummeting into the mist below?
Sorry. No.
Real life is far less theatrical. He wasn’t cruel or evasive. He simply clarified what he wanted: friends with benefits. Nothing more. He said it reasonably, as if the setting weren’t dripping with romance and expectations I hadn’t realized I was still carrying.
But here’s what age gives you: recovery time.
You don’t spiral. You don’t rewrite your entire life story. You straighten up. You take inventory. You laugh — sometimes at the situation, sometimes at yourself. You let exaggeration do its work and turn loss into something external, almost detachable. Another one down. You’re still upright.
That’s when it finally clicked.
I hadn’t lost the game. I’d simply pinned my hopes to a donkey headed somewhere else. Once I saw that clearly, I could unpin the tail and take it back. No drama. No chase across the pasture. The donkey and I could still be friendly, grazing in the same field, munching on grass. Same pasture. Different paths.
“Another One Bites the Dust” works for all sorts of disappointment. Career setback? Creative rejection? Health scare? The steady bass line and Freddie’s commanding voice power you up for the next step. The song reminds you that whatever just fell away doesn’t get to define what comes next.
That’s the takeaway I’d like to offer. You might pin your tail on the wrong donkey, but you can always get it back. If you walk away with the tail in your hand, you didn’t lose the game.
Joan Axelrod-Contrada is a writer who lives in Florence with her two dogs. Sign up for her free newsletter — complete with links to bonus content such as music videos and fun facts — by emailing her at joanaxelrodcontrada@gmail.com.