This blog is called NORMAL GIRLS for a reason and today I'd like to take it back to its uncensored roots wherein I talk about boys. Men. no...boys.
Last week, I tried something new. I went out on a date with someone much younger than me. 7 years younger to be exact. I thought this would be an interesting experiment for several reasons, but mostly I just wanted to hear my father call me a "cougar" (blech.blech. Seriously, Dad.)
All week long before and after the date, I processed the pros and cons of the younger man. The pros: young enough to not have gotten STUCK in freaky weird, still has all his hair, sexual peaks might actually be aligned, no heavy past stuff (divorce, children living in another state) or at least is blissfully unaware of that, none of that ugly "get married" pressure, sees the value of my life experience as COOL rather than intimidating (because he still sees the possibility of life...the dye has not been caste). All of this in addition to the fact that he actually ASKED ME OUT like, on a proper date, yo! That was pretty cool and definitely in the pro category. But in the end, the cons started to creep in in a big way...
I've always been older than myself. When I was 14, my piano teacher hired me to work for her consulting firm as a receptionist. When I told her I needed special permission from the government to work for her on account of my age, she responded with, "What? How old are you? We thought you were 17!" I spent that year selling commercial stoves to rich people who never knew that they were talking to someone not even old enough to have a learner's permit. Add to that the years of relationships in which I have stifled my thoughts and ideas in order to make a guy like me (DUH!) and my recent rennaisance as an uber communicator and you've got a recipe for a 23 year old freak out.
All I did was say what we were both thinking (this isn't going to work, but lets be friends!) in what I thought was a charming NB sort of way, but the result was 7th grade. The cute boy that I had a crush on figured out that I was stalking his locker and changed his class route. And I'm left feeling like the oldest jr. high drama geek you've ever avoided...er...I mean met. Oh well. ce'st la vie. At least the life of a would be cougar. Thus we see that the pros of the older man (which include but are not limited to: life experience, a sense of purpose/self, lots of dealings with weird, overbearing, psychotic ex-wives/girlfriends that make me look like a dream girl, knows who Milli Vanilli is when singing karaoke and doesn't think Blondie is a new "70's/80's revival" Band.)
I think the choice has been made for me. So if you are over the age of 28 and can tell me who sings the song that goes "pour some sugar on me, in the name of love...pour some sugar on me!" because you once owned the album...(though you're obviously embarrassed to admit it now)...let's talk.