As my last post suggested that I am interested in boys 10 years my junior, I now introduce you to my next flavour of the minute: a man 20 years my senior. (Side note: I'm literally writing this blog to the sounds of Simon and Garfunkel. I feel like it's fitting...) I guess dating The Old Man doesn't seem to be too shocking now that I'm *gulp* 30. When I was negative 30, I was very conscious of a man's age. But now that I'm single and 30, well, I guess, anything goes. That rather annoying expression "age is just a number" seems to be more and more prevalent and possibly even accurate? Because when I'm with The Old Man, I don't feel like I'm with an older man.
Next track: The Beach Boys -- God Only Knows... I digress.
From the moment The Old Man laid his (Facebook) eyes on me, he was smitten. It took me a whole year to reciprocate any sort of communication. (He is a friend of a friend.) It wasn't until this year's unromantic / dateless Valentine's Day that I finally decided I would finally meet this man in the flesh. He offered to treat my friend and I to some greasy fish and chips along the beach. I heavily drank the night before, and so battered fishy goodness sounded delightful. I knew what he looked like through Facebook créepage, and I sans lie, I wasn't immediately attracted to his face. Still, he was quite handsome, fit and equipped with features that not at all resembles that of a 50 year old. The Old Man being quite the gentleman, he brought us Valentine's Day treats and paid for the bill. He's witty and kind, drives a truck, has a great job and no obvious previous female baggage. A total catch? Still, I couldn't pinpoint what it was that didn't tingle my loins. But, I did agree to see him again.
On that next rendezvous, I witnessed the handiest of handy men: in an afternoon, with that useful truck of his, he helped me deliver some furniture, he started up my, what I thought was broken, gas fireplace, fixed my leaky bathroom faucet and replaced my car's burnt out tail-light. All with an "It's my pleasure," and a white smile and asked how else he could be of assistance. Huh?! So, I thought, what you're saying is... if I put out, you think I could get new hardwood floors installed too?
I didn't. Instead, we sat on my balcony, drank a shit ton of vino tinto, talked, sang, laughed. I acted completely like myself, smoked one too many cigarettes and blacked out welcoming the sunrise. Not a single moment of silence between the two of us for hours.
I stumbled to my bed (alone), presumably drooling but happy. I woke up later to a "got home safe, thank you" text. A day later, there was was a knock at the door: there stool a delivery man and a gorgeous bouquet of lilies....it couldn't. Could it?! Yup. The Old Man had sent me flowers... for. no. reason. The card read: "Pour une femme spéciale... thanks for the other night. I haven't had fun like that in a long time." And I hadn't even kissed him. Imagine if I kissed him? What if we had played 'just the tip'? The Old Man literally just enjoyed my company. His innocent and medieval approach to women and dating melted my jaded heart. My eyes filled up with tears: I thought how lucky I would be to date such warm, generous soul. I thought about how I couldn't wait to get to know him more, and how many things I would learn from this handy, intelligent, and wiser man. I definitely want to see him again, regardless of the flowers (which was kind of like confirmation for date two) But... (there's always a but) I also thought about how, even in my drunkest, most vulnerable, blackout moment... I didn't kiss him. I couldn't bring myself to kiss him. #yikes.
If you know me, you know me well: I make out with everything. I love kissing. The fact that I hadn't swapped spit with him, nor felt the want to do it, was just too obvious to avoid. But I knew I had to see him again, that I wanted to see him again and that we are very compatible. So my question is: without that fiery chemistry, is that reason enough to stop seeing someone with so many excellent characteristics and qualities?
Age may not matter but attraction sure does. I'd love to hear your opinions on this one, wonderful readers. #help!
Amour Toujours,
La Blonde xx
Next track: The Beach Boys -- God Only Knows... I digress.
From the moment The Old Man laid his (Facebook) eyes on me, he was smitten. It took me a whole year to reciprocate any sort of communication. (He is a friend of a friend.) It wasn't until this year's unromantic / dateless Valentine's Day that I finally decided I would finally meet this man in the flesh. He offered to treat my friend and I to some greasy fish and chips along the beach. I heavily drank the night before, and so battered fishy goodness sounded delightful. I knew what he looked like through Facebook créepage, and I sans lie, I wasn't immediately attracted to his face. Still, he was quite handsome, fit and equipped with features that not at all resembles that of a 50 year old. The Old Man being quite the gentleman, he brought us Valentine's Day treats and paid for the bill. He's witty and kind, drives a truck, has a great job and no obvious previous female baggage. A total catch? Still, I couldn't pinpoint what it was that didn't tingle my loins. But, I did agree to see him again.
On that next rendezvous, I witnessed the handiest of handy men: in an afternoon, with that useful truck of his, he helped me deliver some furniture, he started up my, what I thought was broken, gas fireplace, fixed my leaky bathroom faucet and replaced my car's burnt out tail-light. All with an "It's my pleasure," and a white smile and asked how else he could be of assistance. Huh?! So, I thought, what you're saying is... if I put out, you think I could get new hardwood floors installed too?
I didn't. Instead, we sat on my balcony, drank a shit ton of vino tinto, talked, sang, laughed. I acted completely like myself, smoked one too many cigarettes and blacked out welcoming the sunrise. Not a single moment of silence between the two of us for hours.
I stumbled to my bed (alone), presumably drooling but happy. I woke up later to a "got home safe, thank you" text. A day later, there was was a knock at the door: there stool a delivery man and a gorgeous bouquet of lilies....it couldn't. Could it?! Yup. The Old Man had sent me flowers... for. no. reason. The card read: "Pour une femme spéciale... thanks for the other night. I haven't had fun like that in a long time." And I hadn't even kissed him. Imagine if I kissed him? What if we had played 'just the tip'? The Old Man literally just enjoyed my company. His innocent and medieval approach to women and dating melted my jaded heart. My eyes filled up with tears: I thought how lucky I would be to date such warm, generous soul. I thought about how I couldn't wait to get to know him more, and how many things I would learn from this handy, intelligent, and wiser man. I definitely want to see him again, regardless of the flowers (which was kind of like confirmation for date two) But... (there's always a but) I also thought about how, even in my drunkest, most vulnerable, blackout moment... I didn't kiss him. I couldn't bring myself to kiss him. #yikes.
If you know me, you know me well: I make out with everything. I love kissing. The fact that I hadn't swapped spit with him, nor felt the want to do it, was just too obvious to avoid. But I knew I had to see him again, that I wanted to see him again and that we are very compatible. So my question is: without that fiery chemistry, is that reason enough to stop seeing someone with so many excellent characteristics and qualities?
Age may not matter but attraction sure does. I'd love to hear your opinions on this one, wonderful readers. #help!
Amour Toujours,
La Blonde xx
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