The Broad's Side

I’ve noticed a disturbing trend the past few years. The older I get… the younger my boyfriends get. The age gap seems to widen each time I meet someone new. Eight years. Ten Years, then finally a dozen. I feel like it might be time to quit while I’m ahead. What if I suddenly start hanging out at college ID nights, hoping to score by tempting some communications major with a Bud Light Lime? How close am I to the state of Ohio’s sex offender registry? Thank God “To Catch a Predator” was cancelled. I’d hate to have to explain to Chris Hanson why I arrived at a teenage boy’s parent’s house armed with a three pack of berry wine coolers and a ball gag. I don’t want to consider the possibility that my next date might have still been shitting his pants the year I graduated from high school.

The last guy I dated (for about 10 minutes) always reminded me of someone, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. Now, I’m all but convinced he was on one of those boy band reality shows. Why do I continue dating hot, young bucks? I’m sure part of it is the pretty simple explanation, “because I can.” It’s flattering to get that type of attention from someone who’s significantly younger. I don’t drive a mini-van or wear mom jeans, so I can still pull it off. I’ll put some blame on the party responsible for creating both women and men. We hit our sexual awesomeness at 35ish. Most men are more concerned with scratching their own balls while napping by that juncture. If you don’t want me to bang twenty-somethings… why would you give me that type of sex drive during my banana bread making years? It hardly seems fair. A 28 year old man still has the ability to metabolize beer, plus there’s a good chance that the male pattern baldness hasn’t kicked in yet. Don’t get me wrong, there are certainly some attractive men in their 40’s and up, but they’re all married to other people. It’s not like I have time to sit around and wait for a fatal car accident to free one of them up. Hey, don’t judge me! I can be very comforting in times of tragedy.

My New Year’s Resolution this year is to resign from my cougar-ish ways, but last year I was going to start working out and try to tone down the sarcasm. There are little pieces of brownie crumbs on my keyboard right now and I’m a much bigger asshole than I’ve ever been… so we all see how that panned out. I guess I’ll just have to accept the fact that my dates won’t appreciate my ‘original Footloose v crappy remake’ argument or understand if I break into Valley Girl lingo. He’ll probably think ‘gag me with a spoon’ is a sex trick. Who knows? It could be fun.