It is a fairly well known fact that women mature faster than men…sorry guys, but you have to admit that 9 times out of 10, that’s the honest truth. There are exceptions to this rule, but in the dating world it is usually a safe bet to go out with a guy your own age or older. Going younger poses potential problems. Not sure how those cougars do it. My hat’s off you to ladies! I however, know that this is a rule I must have for myself. RULE #23 – NO DATING YOUNGER MEN. I have the perfect example of why this has made my list. I had been texting back in forth with a guy named Tom (super smokin’ hot and he’s an engineer…score!) for a few weeks when he asked (finally! I mean come on..after two weeks..just do the damn thing already) if I wanted to go out sometime for a drink. He suggested we meet up at Capital Ale House that Sunday and I tried to play it cool. “Yeah sure,” I said casually. “That could be fun.” Then I did my little happy butt wiggle in the living room. The dogs thought it was awesome.
That Sunday I got a text from Tom:
Tom: Soooo I’m trying to decide. Should I start drinking now or go work out?
Me: Hmm…well, it is 10am on a Sunday, so you could always go to the gym and THEN start drinking. Just a thought.
Tom: Yeah. True.
I think I’m just going to drink.
Me: haha..ok..you have fun.
We were supposed to meet up downtown at 4:30 and I parked my car and gave him a call to see where he was. He said he was walking across the street and that he had actually walked there from his apartment. A good 10-12 blocks away. (Please keep in mind this was in January and it was FREEZING out.) He came towards me, tugging headphones out of his ears and I was pleasantly surprised that he actually looked like his pictures. Very very handsome, though I think we were about the same height.
Note to self: when in doubt of a guy’s height, don’t wear those fabulous Italian boots you got on sale one weekend when you were shopping out your feelings.
He gave me a hug, we walked inside and found a spot at the bar. We ordered beers (I went for the Ace Pear..a super yummy cider beer out of California) and started chatting. He was easy to talk to, super intelligent and had great taste in music. There was only one problem..well..one problem that lead to a few more..but I’ll get to that…he was young. I mean really young. Like just turned 23. Somehow I missed that little tidbit when we had first started talking. I began to realize that Tom really didn’t know what he wanted out of life, he still had some things to figure out and really had no plan for where he wanted to end up. While I have moments where I am slightly uncertain about things in my life, I know and really have always known where I want to be at the end. I have a pretty solid picture in my head of the things I want to accomplish and like it when a guy has goals and a plan. Now I’m not hating on Tom. He was only 23..he didn’t need to have a perfectly constructed plan yet, but I knew that we were just in two very different places in our lives. With that little (or not so little) realization, I decided to just enjoy his company for what it was. We continued talking and Tom continued ordering more beer. I was still working on my first when he ordered his third and when he suggested we go downstairs to play some darts, I thought oh good, a break from the drinking. Silly me. There was a bar downstairs too. By the time we made it down there and Tom paid for the darts, and another beer, I could tell he was having a little trouble..you know..with forming sentences, keeping his balance and his hands to himself. Keep in mind that he had been drinking all day..in fact, now that I look back, I’m pretty sure he was drunk when he first got there. I wanted to make the best of it though, so we made a fun playlist of songs from the jukebox and he started singing at the top of his lungs. The bartender threw me a look that was a mixture of sympathy and amusement. “Next one’s on me,” she told me. “And for you my friend,” turning to Tom, “Here’s a nice big glass of water with a fun straw!” The water was probably a good call as he had begun swaying in front of the dart board and I was starting to worry that I would leave this date with pucture wounds from a mis-aimed throw.
I suggested that maybe some food would be a good idea. It was getting close to 7 and I was starving..plus, I figured it could help Tom sober up a bit. He agreed and we walked over to the bar to close out the tab. I leaned againt the bar, waiting for him as he tried to calculate the tip in his head. And then something both unexpected and completely mortifying happened…
Right in front of the bartender and everyone else down there playing darts/minding their own business, Tom leaned over and proceeded to attack me with a sloppy, drunken kiss. I could have died right then from embarassment. Slapping my hands on his chest, I pushed him back gently..”Woah, easy there tiger. Let’s just go upstairs and get something to eat.” Tom smiled, his eyes half-closed, and finished signing his name (or whatever that weird squiggly line was) on the receipt. Then turned and planted another sloppy kiss somewhere between my cheek and mouth..”Alright come on,” I told him, pushing him back. “Let’s go upstairs..food..food is your friend.” He smiled again, (he really had a sweet drunk smile..poor guy) I caught him by the arm and proceeded to haul him up the stairs. I tried putting him in a booth but when I turned to find a waitress, he had weaved his way back up to the bar. I took a deep breath and followed.
Me: “Hey there, wanna get some food?”
Tom: “s’ok…not really hungry. Kinda full..might get another beer though..You want one?”
Me: (Can’t imagine why you’d be full) “Nope. I think we should probably head out though. It’s getting late. How are you getting home by the way?”
Tom: “what? ok. yea..I’m gonna walk..like walking..walking’s nice…you’re nice..you’re pretty. I wanna kiss you. pretty.”
Me: “Lord. Ok Casanova..let’s get you home.”
This is why I don’t go out with younger men. I proceeded to drive sleepy sweet drunk boy back to his apartment and waited until he made it safely inside. My empty stomach grumbled hungrily on the drive home and I could only laugh at the sheer ridiculousness of the night. And so Rule #23 was born…