I’ve said only about a couple of million times before how I like and prefer older men. Someone, somewhere up there must think it real funny to play a sick joke on me. In a way, my desires were fulfilled. IF I LIVED IN A FREAKING NURSING HOME.
It’s really not funny at all (actually it is quite if I wasn’t the main “protagonist”). Since as long as I can remember, I only get accosted by old men. When I say old, I mean men who are old enough to be my father and more. Now, at 30, I’m no young, spring chicken myself, but when I express my interest for older men, I meant it more in a closer to my age range kind of older and not literally grandpa Joe, Moe and Bill from down the street.
In the one month I was in Paris, all hopes of being charmed by a smooth, mature man (or men) were quickly dashed. I got followed, complimented, received declarations of ardour amongst other seemingly “romantic” gestures. IF YOUR IDEA OF BEING ROMANCED IS REMOVING HIS DENTURES FROM YOURS AFTER MAKING OUT.
Then I came back. And still the spell didn’t break. There’s this customer of mine who has been getting really touchy-feely and I’m becoming increasing uncomfortable around him. Almost waiting for the day where he’ll ask me to be his mistress or something. Ew.
Then there’s this other person (who I can only vaguely describe for professional reasons) who has been fanning my ego to the skies. First, he casually commented that I’m very attractive (though I’m sure many others will beg to differ and throw their hands up in protest). Why, thank you. Then he sneakily asked me leading questions to reveal my marital status. Not that me being single since the wheel was invented is any secret. And he proceeded to call the entire male species blind. Why, thank you. Now I’m really flattered. Today we met again (again for professional reasons) and I think I said something along the lines of me hardly having a social life. Which was met by his reply that the generation of men need to be re-educated. Why, thank you. Now you’ll have to pull me back from the clouds.
Then I realised that I’m a total sucker for flattery, never mind me just lamenting minutes ago about the fact that the only men who think I’m attractive happen to fall in the same category of them having a high chance of developing cataracts in the first place.
I’m not asking for much, just have that teeny tiny request for the age demographics to be lowered by a couple of decades or so. Those old men can meanwhile go sit in their rocking chairs and await my transition to an official senior citizen. That is, if they are not dead by then.