To prove that this blog happens day-by-day, here is a post entirely inspired by Kim Trader Vozel’s comment on my blog post yesterday. Her vote was that scruffy twenty-year-old coffee dude’s “I know your cycle” was the worst pick-up line ever. I responded that I couldn’t remember the last time a twenty-year-old hit on me.
Technically, that is a lie. I remember it vividly.
I was thirty-three years old. Opening night of “Bash: The Latterday Plays” by Neil LaBute had just concluded. I had one of the roles, starring along with Rodney Lee Rogers, Sharon Graci and Patrick Sharbaugh in the JC Conway-directed production. Somehow, JC believed I could convincingly portray a love-struck Mormon early-20-something in the middle two-person monologue scene.
Anyway, we decided to go out to celebrate our opening, landing at the old Meritage on East Bay Street. A couple of people went out to the open back area, and I agreed to wait at the front steps for the others. As I was standing there, a college boy sauntered up to me, giving me that look. To digress for a minute, this was a “look” that I seldom got anywhere I went at the period in my life. It had been at least six months since I’d been on an actual date, and anything looked promising to me at that point.
Except a twenty-year-old college student.
“Are you waiting for a date?” he asked me. I looked around to confirm that he was, in fact, speaking to me, while he stood there smiling. “No, just for some people,” I replied somewhat coolly. I didn’t want to encourage him too much, because it was abundantly clear that he was too young for me.
He, however, was not deterred. “Come here often? I haven’t seen you here before.”
I was prepared for this one and replied with something along the lines of, “This is a special night with some friends.” I can’t recall precisely what I said, but it was suitably demure.
“What are you taking at the college?” was his next volley. And, one that interested me in a sick, twisted way, for it confirmed that, yes, in fact, this poor boy thought I was still in college. Oh, I was evil, because I only said, “I’m not at the college,” with a tiny smile. No other explanation on offer, other than, “I work.”
He chatted me up for several more minutes, with light slowly dawning on yonder shore. Finally, he asked me how old I was, and I lit up like a fireworks finale on the Fourth of July. “I’m thirty-three, and you’ve just made my whole year,” I said to his horrified visage. “Thank you. I was beginning to think I was a dude repellent….” as he fled back into the crowd as fast as his twenty-year-old legs could carry him.
Still, I smiled for the balance of the night. There’s almost no greater gift than being mistaken for much younger as a female, especially the older we get.