Uh, no. You are 21. The year you were born was the year I turned 21. That means I literally have a lifetime of tolerance on you. I also have college sweatshirts SpaceBagged in my closet that have been on this planet longer than you. Speaking of which, you're probably still in college which means you don't have a job and will expect me to pay for said drinks. As I've stated before, I'm not a sugar mama and I sure as heck am no cougar. But if I was, I'd probably eat my young. Better dial it down, Romeo.
I get emails from young guys fairly often. Some can form complete sentences, some can not.
And then there are the older men. I mean significantly older. And not cool and perpetually attractive in a Harrison Ford, Pierce Brosnan or Sean Connery kind of way. Which doesn't really matter anyway because inter-generational dating really creeps me out regardless.
What? That noise? Oh, that's just the sound of my skin crawling. To someplace safe. Seeing this in my list of "who's viewed me" is cause for an immediate shower. Like a heavy-exfoliation-take-it-down-to-the-next-layer-of-dermis-get-shampoo-in-your-eyes-on-purpose kind of shower. Thank heaven you are an ocean away. God save the queen. Nevermind, she's too old for you. God save Kate Middleton.
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