Wednesday, May 23, 2007

paging ms. robinson...

I know I’ve been promising a final chapter in the grad school saga. But frankly I’m still recuperating from the mental shredding it took to write the first two. I promise you, once my last therapy bill has cleared, and after an adequate subsiding of the involuntary twitching and routine night sweats, I’ll get right on that. Meanwhile, let me tell you another story. Ready? M’kay.

Last week, I was home in California. The trip was for practical purposes, and practical purposes only. I was there to spend some much-needed time with the family, help Mom with stuff around the house, basically lay low and keep it simple. This is Clovis, CA people, what other options are there? For there is the dwelling place of raisins, heat, high school football freaks, strip malls, slow drivers, and stucco housing developments stretching as far as the toxic, contract-acute-asthma-within-hours, valley sky will allow you to see. Okay, that means you can see only a block ahead, but trust me, there’s like a billion cookie-cutter houses past that big hazy cloud you’re looking at across the street. Imagine a place that is completely devoid of mystery, charm, excitement or adventure, and you’ve beheld the vision of Clovis.

This was not – I repeat – not a trip designed for romance, thrill-seeking, cradle-robbing, boy prowling, or in other words, attending my sister’s barely not even children anymore singles ward and meeting a 22 year-old returned missionary, who takes me out on a date last Friday night because the poor boy could not even help himself in my presence. This was not supposed to happen. But happen it did.

Yes. 22.

Yes. I still got it.

You guys, I totally met him after Sacrament meeting. He gave me the "you look really familiar" line. He then asked me how old I was, because he suspected I used to hang out with one of his sisters. Oh my gosh, I was so happy he asked me how old I was. I was giddy to tell him, because I couldn't wait to see the response. "Thirty-two!" I said with a huge smile. Oh, his face...oh, his cute little face. "Okay, then that can't be it," he said. I was centimeters from firing back with, "well, maybe I babysat you when you were nine or something." I resisted.

This is the shocker though. He later asked my sister if I was single. He totally got my number from my sister, and he totally called me you guys. We had Cold Stone. We walked around. It was like amazing.

I think I can still hear my father’s laugh all the way from Boston.

Maybe someday I’ll tell you about the time I went on a date with a 62 year-old. (But today unfortunately is not that day.) From 62 to 22. A 40 year spread. Very open-minded, I must say. Basically, if you are legal and/or can still feed yourself, gimme a call. I’m your Friday night gal.
And I thought my 25 year spread was impressive. You've certainly got me beat.

And P.S. I'm really glad you're home :-)
You are so hot! Getting asked out by boys while you're out of town! I need to take lessons from you.
I'm only 27. Can I still date you?
university ward- watch out!

this freaking rocks.

I love that you conceptualize peeps my age as barely older than children.

I bet that date was the best date ever, right? RIGHT?!?!

Because young is the way to go.
10 years difference -- no problem. In fact, I have even told my 13 year old son that if he is in his 20s and finds someone 10 years old it really doesn't matter. Women have so many options of retaining their youth!! You go girl!!
JeJe: Don't kid yourself, 25 years is nothing to sneeze at!

Mooney: You had your chance. Hope the opera was killer.

Colleen: It's not a conceptualization. It's based on their behavior more than their age. They were kiddies. Babes. Chitlins.

Mary: Well naturally! There's Mary Kay, Oil of Olay, Petroleum Jelly, the options for maintaining youth are endless!
Get'em while you can still mold me Mar! That's what I say.
I meant to say mold THEM, not me!
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