When a 21 year old stunning blonde in a bar does the “hair flip with a giggle” move on a guy, it can be breath taking.
But when a formerly stunning blonde who is not aging well does it in a Starbucks to a guy half her age she met in line?
Not so much.
Don’t get me wrong, sometimes there is nothing hotter than a woman well out of her 20’s that has enough experience in the world to be comfortable in her skin.
And it blows the younger competition out of the water.
But it is a tough act to pull off.
Such is not the case here.
Its more like a bad actress in a shitty play with no rehearsal who’s dying of a wasting disease caught by making out with some un-vaccinated homeless illegal with lip sores at some sort of 70’s style key party in a random flip flop club in a questionable side of town on the wrong side of the tracks an hour past closing time on a school night.
(Lines like that are why I write this blog.)
The guy, mid 20’s and dumb like a stick by the looks of him, is not even noticing.
He has this sort of Lumpy Rutherford innocence to him that is as charming as it is alarming.
In fact, the more I watch this guy the more I feel I may owe sticks an apology, because they could not POSSIBLY be as stupid.
Who knows, maybe they’re made for each other?
Sounds like a bad tv show, she is the aging cougar with unidentified crotch itch and he is at the other end of the tard spectrum.
And together they fight crime and bump uglies.
A mid-season replacement show this fall on FOX.
“Old ho and the tard.”
The better thought process is, why the hell should I care where he gets his STD’s? If not from her, then from elsewhere, and I really don’t want to know where she got hers. (Although it probably involved a trip to TJ and an admission ticket to the “Donkey show”.)
(May have gone to far at this point. Give me a minute here.)
A test reader has just pointed out to me that, in my attempt to be amusing, I may just be an ass and total douche.
I make a big show of denigrating your reading of this blog, that I don’t care, its not for you, blah, blah, blah, the usual crap I throw out there.
Truth is, I need you to read this stuff and either laugh and shoot coffee out of your nose or hate it like a pedophile has moved into your neighborhood and has become BFF’s with your kids.
(Test reader has just called me a dick and is refusing to be involved from here on. Never a good sign.)
So lets dial it back a notch, slow things down.
Like a slow jazz singer trying get his groupies worked up to have a shot at a sloppy handjob after the show.
I give up, despite my admittedly half-assed attempts to get out of the mental sewer I find myself in, I can’t seem to get over the curb.
Like a literary quicksand, the more I struggle, the deeper I sink.
So I give up.
That is the beauty of writing a weekly blog.
There’s always next week.