I just got hit on by a 70-year-old man. No shit. Here I am minding my own beeswax at El Torro sipping on a margarita hanging out with M, and out of nowhere here is this guy asking about my walking – face so close that I can see his tonsils as he speaks. His breath – sickly sweet like he had just eaten a handful of honeysuckles. Asks if my hips had been replace, and then takes the opportunity to hit on me. Nice moves grandpa, nice moves.
Then his roommate comes over and M’s right, he’s not a bad looking guy – dimples to die for – in his 40’s - BUT he is roommates with the old guy and they go to Mexico twice a year together. And the only reason I can think of hanging out with old guy is if he is related. Plus dimples was wearing a Bluetooth and I’m sorry but no one is so important that they can’t take the Bluetooth out of your their ear for five fucking minutes. Well maybe if you’re an on-call doctor or a fireman – neither of which was he.
I gotta tell you ... When I die I will not reflect on a boring life.
CW
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