Mr. Man and I have an old friend that we don't get to see often enough. He's a single cop who lives only a little more than an hour away and yet there is rarely a night when at least one of us doesn't have something scheduled. We're pathetic.
This month, we've decided to try again. Mr. Man has a night off, I am free as well and now we're waiting on our friend to verify his schedule is clear so we can get hotel rooms on neutral territory. Keep your fingers crossed.
So I get an email from him telling me he might invite his "flavor of the month" to come with him. (His words, not mine.) "She's nice and we have fun, but she's not the one," he said. "She's too young."
I won't say how young she is other than to say she is legal to play with in the state of Kansas and I am old enough to have given birth to her. You can imagine how much I am hoping he'll bring her along. I look forward to a night of stimulating discussion about whether Kevin and Brittney will make good parents and swapping Easy Bake Oven recipes.
I would ask him to explain to me his fascination with young women, but I really don't need his enlightenment. At forty-one, I'm pretty sure I have the math figured out. Young girls have firm behinds, their boobies are still perky and they make a fabulous accessory that goes well with anything.
When I told Mr. Man about our friend's new play thing, he said and I quote, "Woo-hoo!" And then he saw the look on my face and whimpered off to a corner and hid.
What I want to know is, when did this happen? When did I slip from hot, young girl to "excuse me, Ma'am"? When did I become the old lady that hates to see a perfectly good man waste his brain cells and sperm on a too young for him girl?
When I was nineteen, I married Husband #1 who was quite a bit older, completely settled in his career and already had two kids from a previous marriage. Everywhere we went we attracted attention. People were sometimes even rude enough to look right past me and say to him, "You like 'em young, don't you?" He saw that as the biggest compliment anyone could give him. He wore me like an expensive suit.
I wasn't even old enough to drink when I married him and yet somehow, I was sure the age difference didn't matter and we were going to live happily ever after. It's worth noting that the girlfriend he felt necessary to have while we were married was a lot older than me. Hmm. Perhaps he needed a more stimulating conversationalist.
Our friend is a good looking, wildly intelligent man. He's successful, funny and the kind of guy everyone loves to be around. While he tells me that he has no intentions of getting serious with this girl, I can tell you from experience that she is already wondering whether they should release doves or balloons after the double ring ceremony.
I'd feel sorry for her too, were it not for the fact that she is a scab taking jobs away from grown up women who are forced to go man-less or worse yet, settle for men who only have hair in and around their ears and wear tube socks. Thank God I am married and therefore have a man who is forced by law and the fear of alimony to love me. If I were single at my age, I suppose my only recourse would be to cruise the halls of retirement homes and talk loudly about how much I love blended prunes in the hopes a hundred year old man would find my lack of Depends panty lines arousing.
I'll be sure to let you know how the evening turns out. I figure if I make it the entire night without telling her to sit up straight and stop playing with her tongue ring, I'm golden.
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