Creepy Old Men Are the New Thing!

I’ve recently come to accept the fact that I’m an old man magnet.

Don’t get me wrong, I do like old men. But I like them in the same sense that I like kittens and puppies—they’re cute and sweet as long as they don’t crap on your carpet. But the idea of having a romantic relationship with an old man is the type of thing that would make one’s head explode. It just shouldn’t happen. At least, not with me. Hey, if Anna Nicole wanted to get freaky with an old man, who the heck am I to judge? (Oh, but I do judge. That chick was totally after the geezer’s money. But that’s OLD news now.)

Speaking of, I once had an old Russian guy tell me I looked like Anna Nicole Smith. Actually, he told me that if I’d lose a bit of weight, THEN I’d look just like her. As if that was supposed to woo me or something. The dillweed. I didn’t know whether to be offended or take it as a compliment, to be perfectly honest. But I digress….

The point is: old men dig me. And my reaction has always been: WTF?!

Now, before I go any further I feel it’s necessary to explain that when I say “old man,” I’m not talking about a salt-n-peppery 40-something-year-old man. Oh no. I’d be flattered if that were the case. No, when I say “old” I’m referring to men who are roughly between the ages of 65-88, with their pants pulled up way high so you can see what color socks they’re wearing with their old-man loafers. I’m talking about the old men who tend to lose their sense of smell so that they are completely unaware that they are really just a walking stick of incense, wafting the delicate scent of rancid salami with a hint of moth balls. I’m talking about dudes who have tobacco stained teeth and fingers. Well… those with real teeth, I should say.

(Click on the image to read something HILARIOUS)

You see what I mean?

And the fact that these men are living under the impression that they *just* might have a chance with me really bugs the crap out of me. Oh sure, I’ll play it off by smiling and laughing. Heck, I might even swat them away in a playful manner just to keep them in good spirits. After all, just because there’s no way in hell they’d have a chance with me doesn’t mean that the next Anna Nicole look-alike would turn them down. (You gotta give these guys something to hope for, right?)

But when they start getting vulgar with me is when all bets are off. I will be the biggest bitch to the next one that tries waggling his grotesquely long eyebrows at me.


(Notice the abnormally long eyebrow hairs? Um, yeah.)

And if he even dares to blow a kiss my way in one of those, “hey baby, I’ll meet you out by the golf cart… let me just get a 5-minute head start so I can stow my walker away,” ways, well then I’m going to have to get vicious. And PLEASE, for the love of all that is good in this world, do not invite me for a ride on your motorized scooter. Please.

*sigh*

Sometimes I wish someone my age would come and sweep me off my feet. But he’ll have to get past all the old men reeking of Old Spice and onions. That is, if I don’t beat ‘em off first.