So earlier today this seemed like a much more significant post, but after writing on Bevis's blog (regarding loss) and reading Muffin's comment regarding age . . . I don't feel as though I'm that young anymore, particularly in experience, so this question is one I may have answered on my own. BUT, I still want to know some outside opinions.
How much older/younger than yourself are you allowed to date??
I ask that EVERYONE who comments (ask, not demand) answer that question first and foremost. Then, if you have something you want to say about the rest of the post, feel free.
I was in the dry cleaner's today picking up my items which I refuse to iron myself because I ABHOR ironing. Yes, I realize it is stupid and wasteful beyond all reason to pay for drycleaning of items which I could wash and iron myself. But I REALLY hate ironing. Plus, the gentleman who owns the dry cleaning establishment is hot beyond all reason and I love thinking that I allow him to make his monthly house payment on my patronage alone. Oh, and he's also the reason I schlep 8 miles from my house to get my dry cleaning done when there is a dry cleaners less than a mile away. Anywho . . .
Extremely attractive dry cleaning (married, pooh!) man and I were discussing football while I was slightly dancing around to the Jethro Tull over the speaker system when another gentleman interjected with "Aren't you a little young to dance to Bungle in the Jungle?"
Umm . . . first of all, my music tastes are VERY eclectic and range all over chronologically. I can speak as knowledgeably about music from the 60s as I can about music today. If I want to dance to Bungle in the Jungle, I by god will. And I'm JUST about to tell him this fact when I catch sight of him.
Oh ladies . . . so, you know how hot a guy in a suit is - - even if he's unattractive? This man didn't need the suit, but he sure had it. (Yes, males, I realize my blog is relatively man driven lately, I apologize, but give a celibate girl a little room. One day her mind will return to normal and any male with a pulse will no longer be blog worthy.)
So instead of the scathing remark my caustic mind was forming initially, I instead said, "How can you be certain I'm as young as you think?" He gave the cutest smile, with the straightest teeth, and said "I'm putting you at about 20 or 21." "Close but no cigar." "Give me a clue?" "Better yet, I'll give you an answer. I'm 25."
And, yes, amazingly I was this cool in my answers. In my head I was stuttering and blubbering and melting on the ground, but in life I was cool. Or at least I pictured myself as such. It's entirely possible that I was beet red and sweaty. Ugh. No more negative thoughts.
"Hm, just old enough to ask for dinner?" Cute little lilt at the end which made it a question. "Just old enough? Should I take that to mean you are slightly older than my 25 years?" I promise you he looks 29 at the most.
HELP! He's 39. As in almost 40. As in 14 years older. As in he was born when Jethro Tull was conceiving the idea of Bungle in the Jungle. As in he's only 15 years younger than my parents. So, yes, had a momentary mental freak . . . with my eyes closed. With my eyes open my mind went "39? What's that? It's a number . . forget it." And yet . . .
"Oh, I don't know. My mother told me to never talk to strangers. Let alone attend dinner engagements with them." Introductions ensued. He's in marketing. Divorced for 4 years. Likes that I know old music. Favorite author is Ayn Rand, as is mine, though we differ on book choices -- I'm a Fountainhead girl while he's an Atlas Shrugged guy. Yes, we had this lengthy conversation in the dry cleaners and then continued it in the parking lot. In the end, I still hadn't said yes to dinner.
He, rather presumptiously, removed the ink pen from the collar of my scrubs and reached for my hand. "Here, let me make this easier for you. You're in charge. I'm going to write my number on your hand. If you want to have dinner with me, or to just talk, use it."
Umm, umm, umm.
And with all that said, I promise tomorrow's post will be more intellectual and less fifth grade girl who just discovered boys. I recently re-read all my posts and discovered that when I became single I suddenly went from interesting, thought provoking topics to sex and bubble gum crushes. Again, my apologies. Help me with this ONE small intsy weentsy tiny question and I promise to have a decent post later this week.
Also, I should mention I think I'm going crazy. I posted on Bevis's blog what only 4 people in this whole world know . . . why would I share that with anyone outside of that small circle??? This world of wonderful anonymous friends has made me weak. I am now free with my personal thoughts, ideas and secrets. Craziness. Mayhap I need medication. The local pharmacy should expect me to darken their door. I need zoloft, prozac or lithium. Something mood stabilizing. Or something wonderfully narcotic. Pain killers. Oooh. Tasty. Far quicker than drinking. See you kiddies at the Methadone clinic. Meth would at least allow me to lose weight. Tempting, tempting.