Says Andrew Roth, "Maybe I'm looking for the ideal woman. If she comes along, wonderful. If she doesn't, I can wait at least another decade." Such nonchalance comes from the fact that men have not only statistics on their side but also time. They can continue to have children into their seventies, and can be intolerant of the time pressure facing women their own age. "Somebody over 30 is a definite negative," says a 36-year-old financial analyst. He says he would also prefer a virgin. "Why not?" he asks.

Another man cites 31 as the cutoff point. "I'd like to live alone with my wife for at least four years," he says. "I don't want to get married and have a kid nine months later. If you date women over 32, you're a victim of their biology. Who needs that kind of pressure?"

Experts at the New York Fertility Research Foundation maintain that women of 35 have only a 10 percent infertility rate. Still, many single women are aware that men may not be so well informed. "Recently, I was telling a date that I wanted to have a baby someday," says filmmaker Amanda Black. "He said, 'My God, you're 33! Isn't it a bit too late?' By the end of dinner, I felt ready for menopause."

The biological-clock excuse is often used by men who are afraid of an egalitarian relationship, says Schwartz. "Women in their thirties want to assume equal responsibility in a marriage. It's challenging to the man, but also frightening. Some men say, 'Okay, I can be modern. I'll go out with a professional woman—but she'll be a young professional. That way she can have her career, but I can still assume the traditional role.' " And many women under 30 have a different attitude about what being equal means. Dr. Phillip Shaver, who teaches social psychology at the University of Denver, says that female students are "not as militant about feminism. They don't want to put their careers ahead of a relationship. They see the sacrifices the older women have made, and they want to strike a better balance."

Such comments provoke bitterness on the part of females over 30, who say they feel like guinea pigs. "When I was growing up, my mother told me it was important to be a good wife and mother," says one 37-year-old woman. "I was sent off to college to find a man. And then Gloria Steinem said, 'No, you want more than marriage, more than motherhood.' So I rejected my parents' values and went through my Helen Reddy 'I Am Woman' phase. I threw myself into my career. I looked totally androgynous. Is it any wonder my relationships got all screwed up?"

Another woman, a 36-year-old film-company executive, describes the ambivalence she feels about having a career instead of a family. "Marriage was the only thing I ever really wanted," she says. "But in graduate school, I was surrounded by women with strong professional goals. There was a lot of peer pressure to have a career. I figured, 'Well, if they can get great jobs, so can I.'

"At first, I was hired as a secretary. I figured I'd work a few years, reach a certain level of success, and then get married. But then I kept on getting promoted. I worked long hours. I worked nights. It just kind of happened. Still, I think of getting married every day of my life. I can't even talk about it—it makes me too sad."

Siegler blames the women's movement to some extent for failing to help women order their priorities. "It was a revolution, and, like any radical movement, it didn't outline the consequences. We were never told, 'While you're climbing up the corporate ladder, don't forget to pick up a husband and child.' Sexual differences were de-emphasized, and women began to think that being equal meant being the same."

Consequently, women are confused about what to expect from a marriage. Having struggled so long for independence, they're afraid to enter into any relationship that might impair their hard-won autonomy. "Women are terrified that once they get married the man will become more demanding and revert to patriarchal stereotypes," says Dr. Ruth Moulton, a psychoanalyst who treats many female executives. "One way to deal with this fear is to postpone commitment."

Joanne Dunne, an editor at the New York Times, felt frozen in her last relationship somewhere between dating and living together. "I lived with a man for four years," she says. "When we broke up, he found someone immediately and got married. I moved into my own apartment and struggled to become more independent. It was lonely, but I did it." Until they split up, Dunne lived at her boyfriend's apartment but kept all her clothes in her own closet—twenty blocks away. While that provided the illusion of independence, she admits, "I felt so disoriented. Most of the time, one shoe was at his apartment and the other one was under my bed. It was ridiculous. But I was afraid to give up my own place. Sometimes I'd feel myself weaken, and I'd say, 'Be strong. Be mature.' And then I'd realize I was carrying my underwear around in a paper bag, and I'd think, 'That's mature?' "