Guys ask me a lot of questions. Most of them are the general get-to-know-you questions and a majority of them are sexual questions. One question that I have never been asked —and hoped to have never been asked in another 20 years— is “Is she your daughter?” Apparently, I spoke too soon.
He was not a young, disabled man. He had white hair, bald patches on his head, and was wrinkled. He looked a bit aged. Very aged. Like 75 years old.
It gets worse.
This old man needs new eyes. He thought I was 22 years old. So I’m 22 years old with a 20-something-year-old daughter. I wonder how that happened. Old age I guess.
I brushed that off and let him humor me with jokes. We had time to spare so we went in “his office,” which really was just two stools and a table that was on sale for $700. I don’t think we were helping it get sold either.
He starts telling us funny, crude jokes. He had a good radio voice, but there was a touch of rasp to it that sounded quite creepy. He liked my laugh. He raved about my straight, white teeth. Nothing unusual. I guess he's a teeth lover as well.
“What’s your phone number?” the old man asked.
“Is this really happening?” shouted the Disbeliever.
Is our blog called “Did this REALLY Happen?!”
Is our blog called “Did this REALLY Happen?!”
He dropped his cane.
Yeah, it is.
I did not know what to say. I felt bad for the old man. I didn’t want to laugh, but he liked my laugh. I didn’t want to be mean because I can’t be mean to old people.
“I can be your grandpa, sugar daddy, or grand-daddy. What do you say?”
“Uh…why? What?”
“Why not? We’ll have a good time! I’ll take you to a hockey game.”
“I work at the hockey games anyway.”
“We’ll do something else then. Give me your number!”
“No! For what? What are you going to do with it?”
One of my coworkers rescued me and I walked out.
I ran out of there as if I were racing.
That was not the last of him. I was working at the escalator that he walked out from. I faced the other way so he wouldn’t see me. Thinking he was gone, he left my coworker and walked —or wobbled— over to me!
“There’s my girl!”
“Oh no,” shaking my head in disbelief.
“You know, I’m a vampire. Love at first bite.”
I shriek.
This old man is not the typical old guy who sits around and is in a wheelchair. Rather, he is obnoxious, freaky, has a sense of humor, and still has the sex drive! I doubt that he’d be able to keep up with me though. But who knows! I do not want to find out.
I cannot believe that he actually thought that he would have a chance with me! What was he thinking? Did he really think that I would give him my phone number? He has a maximum of 15 years left on earth! He probably needed a self-esteem boost to show that he’s still got it. I am fed up with guys doing that to me! It really brings me down because that’s all it ever amounts to— a self-esteem boost. Guys just want me for one thing. I’m that quick dose of pleasure.
This geezer asking for my number really did me in. I don’t care anymore. There is no point to talk to guys at a bar or wherever because they will either act dull; want to hookup; not ask for my number; ask for my number and never call; ask for my number and text; ask for my number and send a picture of their penis; or ask for my number and just want to hang and bang. When all I want is an innocent conversation.
Is this what my young dating life has come to? 70-year-olds? How depressing! :( The Disbeliever asked me why I always attract the weirdoes. I must give off the come-talk-to-me-vibe. I probably have a very welcoming aura around me.
Getting made fun of for always getting old men is getting old!
Keepin’ it real,
Realist
I always loved the title for the blog!!! HaHa it was named perfectly!!!
ReplyDeleteYes it was! Whenever sometimes happens, I immediately think, Did this really happen?
ReplyDelete