The Retirement Problem, by Hinda Gonchor

In the beginning the happy couple are busy. Furnishing the house, bringing up the kids, working to pay the bills. So busy are they with the everyday stuff of life they barely see the anniversaries piling up . . . paper, diamond, silver. Gold even. With all this life going on, many couples have never had time to really know each other and, boom, it’s retirement time. 

Usually it’s the husband in these long-term marriages whose retirement kicks up a stir; the wife has retired years back from a supplemental-income job and she has plenty to do with her free time. Hubby is now ready to share the remaining years of marital bliss with his beloved, unsure at the moment of what else to do with the rest of his life. 

But wait. Since the kids moved out, the lady of the house has been doing her own stuff. She’s got her teenage legs back. She’s on the town. No need to tell anybody her whereabouts. It’s no one’s business but her own. Then:

“Where are you going?” he asks. No one has asked her that question in years. She freezes, doesn’t quite understand the question. Won’t answer on grounds it may incriminate her. 

“Out,” she says. 

“When will you be back?” 

This is a whole new ballgame. Not only does she need to announce her plan for the day, but also the time of her return. She’s happy that he is no longer exhausted from those hard days at the office, but how much happiness can a person take?

Destination: supermarket. He offers to accompany her. She’s used to a fast shop, in and out, so she can get to the bridge club. Her mind is running double time. She knows already they will have dinner out, even though she is doing the supermarket. Can she cook after such a busy day? The stress of the inquisition has knocked her for a loop. 

The supermarket is a whole new experience for him. He wants to look around. He needs everything. He advises in all aspects of the adventure — how to choose a good cantaloupe, which as any woman knows is knowledge beyond the human brain, regardless of what the experts say about squeezing and smelling. At checkout he advises how to pack the bags, and then makes the top-level decision on whether to place them in the back seat of the car or in the trunk. 

Lucky for him she remembers to take her shopping bags into the store, explaining the no-more-plastic-bags situation in the Hamptons. (Actually she suspects the whole thing is a bit fraudulent; customers need plastic bags for garbage, so they buy them. She admits she needs to think this through.) 

When she gets to the bridge club she is weary. She complains about her life to a friend, who not only sympathizes, but offers advice. 

“You need the ROMEOs,” says friend.

“What’s that?” asks wife. 

“The ROMEOs are all over the place,” her friend responds. “Retired Older Men Eating Out.” They meet, they talk, it’s like therapy. Maybe they admit they feel like interlopers in their own house. Maybe they looked forward to retirement but now they wish they had a job, but who’s going to hire them when they’re way past their AARP card? And they already gave away all their ties.

“Wow,” says the disgruntled wife, who has paused a moment before tearing the last hair out of her head — a cure for the malady of spending more time together now than she and her husband have since their courtship. 

“How often do they meet?” asks the wife. 

“Once a month.”

“Once a month? What’s the good of that? Where does he have lunch the rest of the time?” 

“I don’t know,” says the friend. “I got a job. I’m never home.”

Hinda Gonchor’s essays have appeared in The New York Times, the Gannett newspapers, and previously in The Star. She lives part time in East Hampton.