“Not even a bootycall?”
“Not even a bootycall.”
“So you got nothin’?”
“I got nothin’,” I said, shaking my head.
“That’s a damn shame,” said Sean, as he took a sip of his Guiness. “No one to drunk-text.”
“Nope, no one to drunk-text,” I sighed. I took a sip of my Bud Light. “Well, except My Ex, of course. I drunk-text him all the time.”
Sean gave me a look.
He was tall. He had a fantastic smile. And when he lifted his beer bottle to his mouth, his t-shirt sleeve rose up and we could see a glimpse of the tatoo that circled his upper arm.
This guy was HOT.
“Wow,” I said, as we entered the bar. “I didn’t think this place would be so big.”
“Me neither,” Marlie agreed. “And with so many people.” The atmosphere was more like a club than the intimate lounge setting we’d been expecting. Dance music pumped through the speakers and the dim concrete and dark wood space seemed incongruous with the early evening sun that still blazed outside.
After we got our drinks, we looked over the ‘Ice Breaker’ cards we’d been given when we checked in. These were a list of questions we were supposed to ask the Firemen in order to get them talking. But I just couldn’t imagine myself actually starting a conversation with:
“What is the best type of protection for a Firefighter?
1) Fireproof Suit
2) Oxygen Mask
3) A Condom”
“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” laughed Marlie.
“I know,” I said and rolled my eyes. “It’s totally ridiculous.”
“I hope it will be fun.”
“Of course it will be fun.” I peered into the candlelit bar. “We’re here together. We’ll have fun no matter what.”
“A lie is a lie is a lie,” insisted Leanne, as she tucked a lock of strawberry blonde hair behind her ear. “It’s as simple as that.”
“Okay, I get what you’re saying,” I said. “But this is the thing. As one of the readers commented – if you meet someone out and about, you’re not going to introduce yourself and be all, ‘Hi my name is Tracey and I’m 43.'” I took a sip of Corona and then continued. “No, you’re just going to get to know them and then age comes up later. But online, you’re required to put how old you are and that automatically categorizes you, before someone even gives you a chance. And in my case, dismisses you.”
“But why would you want to even date someone your age who’s cut-off is thirty-six?” she asked.
“Hmm, that’s a good point,” I said and looked around the table. “What do you guys think?”
“Ew!” I exclaimed, as I burst through the conference room door.
“What?” Archie was trying to enjoy a peaceful Bento Box lunch, away from the usual office chaos.
But I was having none of that.
“My post for tomorrow sucks!” I stared down at him, hands on hips. “It SUCKS!”
Continue reading Age Aint Nothin’ But a Number…? And Another Poll.
Not Quite A Cougar 