I'm not your bitch, don't hang your shit on me.

Monday, December 15, 2014

Santa magnet

My friend A and myself are sitting on my patio, catching up on our lives.  It's the usual pratterings about work, home, free time, and what have you.  When the talk veers its way to relationships, I bring something up that's been bothering me.

"I'm a Santa magnet."

"What's that?" asks A between a chuckle.

"It's when the only people who are attracted to me resemble Santa.  You know, old guys with white hair and beards?"  A laughs again.  I give him a what the fuck is up with that? kind of expression.

My first (and only) reply to these men is this:  Don't you feel any shame for hitting on someone who can be your grandchild?  Do you really think they find you sexually desirable?  I know that even older people have their needs, but not with someone who just went through puberty.  Granted, if the nubile have a thing for relics than that's another story.

I have nothing against old people (and, in fact, I get along quite well with them), but I wouldn't want to date one.  I love my grandpa but I don't want to fuck him.

The next day I get three online messages from guys who can only be described as "mature" (i.e. old).  They're all looking for the same thing: a cure for their inflamed joints, and I'm not talking about arthritis.  It's not as if I'm naked anywhere, promoting sex and asking for a sugar gramps.

I text my friend A from the night before.

"Remember what I said about me being a magnet for Santas?  Well, it happened again..."