Full Grown Man

I know Granny said I should cap my age range at 32 for the men I date but I don’t entirely agree and besides, I like to be rebellious. In high school I was always pushing her buttons to test the waters. There was one incident where she bought me a white skirt but told me under no circumstance could I wear it without a slip because it became totally see-through in the sun. Being the brat that I was (am) I wore it the very next day with a bright blue thong underneath. I was strolling down the street feeling outrageously sexy, scandalous, and sixteen when I ran into Granny. She may be fifty years my senior, but the lady is fast and surprisingly strong.

Besides provoking Granny, after my date with the boy toy, I was craving a more developed gentleman. Jeff, a 42 year-old business owner, sounded like a healthy dose of adulthood. He described himself as a “full-grown man”. I pictured facial hair, a mortgage, and an impressive tie collection. Hubba hubba.

He also described himself as a “yoga dude” who likes to get his “Om on”.  I found both sayings a little cheesy but I let it slide since he listed many other interests that made him sound versatile, worldly, and manly.

He suggested meeting up at a bar in the west village. Unbeknownst to either of us there are two bars with the same name in the neighborhood. I got to what I thought was the right bar, ordered a drink and began the waiting game. After twenty-five minutes, a finished drink, and an annoying feeling creeping up my spine, I messaged him to find out where he was. When we realized the blunder I tried to hail a cab but there were none in sight so I began speed walking to his destination while I messaged him:

Me: Oh man! Sorry, I’m on my way to you now.

Him: Relax, no worries.

Me: Can’t find a cab. Be there in 20.

Him: Relax. See you soon.

I hate when someone tells me to relax. Maybe it’s because I’m a psychopath, but I feel like someone saying “relax” is a passive aggressive way of making you feel more at edge while they look like the cool cucumber. Relax? I was relaxed. I would have been more relaxed if the full-grown man did the chivalrous thing and suggested coming to meet me since he was the one to pick the venue and never clarified which street it was on. But whatever, I can get my Om on too.

When I finally arrived at the bar, I saw a man sitting by himself. I couldn’t see his face because a cocktail menu obscured it, but judging by the arm full of prayer beads supporting the menu I thought it safe to assume it was Jeff.

“Hey,” I said as I approached the table, “Silly mix up.”

Jeff brought his hands into what looked like prayer position when he nodded hello to me. “Relax, not a problem,” he said. I took a deep breath.

He calmly began telling me about his life and furthermore his theory on life in general, “Do you think the universe is expanding or contracting?” he asked.

He made it clear that he was in touch with himself and very into his spirituality.  He told me about his love for rock bands, Asia, and his children. All three of them. The oldest was a fifteen year-old girl.

I like kids a lot. I love kids, but did I really want to be dating a guy who has three? I wouldn’t mind being a second wife but I think I’m too young to settle for that position now.

Although he was a very kind and intellectual man, I’m not the gal that could get into the vinyasa flow with Jeff. Nor do I want to play the role of the evil step-mom next to chilled out Om master dad.

Ugh, Granny 1. Me 0.