Old BootsPosted: September 26, 2011
This is the question Granny proposed to me after her new date with Jake this weekend, “What’s wrong with this picture? When I have to say to the gentleman who took me out, ‘Please call me when you get home so I know ya got there safely.’ What would ya say the problem is?”
I considered, concluding she was referring to his age. I’m beginning to think Granny has what it takes to be a cougar. She has style, sass, energy, and a slight aversion to older gentleman that could easily work it’s way into a healthy appetite for a youthful boy toy.
“He’s an older man, you’re an older woman. This I know. Give me some real juice,” I said.
“Listen, all I’m saying is, I don’t like goin’ out with a man that I gotta worry if he’s dead or alive,” she defended herself. “But okay, so I get there and he’s not 5’6, he lied, he’s probably 5’2 but he was wearing cowboy boots which propped him up an inch or two. He dressed well for an older gentleman, some nice trousers, with a crease. I love a crease—”
I was stuck on the cowboy boots. September in Florida is way too hot for that much foot/ankle coverage. I needed more information on the boots, “Oh yeah,” she huffed, “He sure loves them boots. He spent a good hour enlightening me on his boot maintenance. He’s got six pairs, once a month he lines them all up and spit polishes them—whatever the hell that means. He leaves the black for last because they take the most work. Jesus.”
I knew regardless of the boots and age she must have enjoyed Jake’s company because after drinks they went to another restaurant for dinner, their date clocking in at over four hours. She said he was a very nice man, attentive, gentlemanly, and kind, but he didn’t have a sense of humor to keep her captivated, “I wanna laugh, if I can’t laugh it’s not worth it.” I can’t really argue with that, she knows what she likes.
He did however share her passion for travel, just not the same methods. He loves to go RVing, especially at Yellow Stone Park, “He was really doin’ a hard sell to get me on board, ‘I said whaddaya crazy? You drive there. Fly me out, I’ll stop in to say hello. Or let’s take your RV to Paris and park it in front a nice hotel in the Champs-Élysées. Can you imagine eating breakfast, lunch, and dinner in an RV? No way, the best part of traveling is enjoying the local flavors and cuisines.” Picturing Granny gallivanting through America in an RV is a hilarious and hugely improbable idea. I picture her making it twenty miles or so then asking to be dropped off at the nearest Outlet Mall.
Even though she wasn’t wildly impressed with Jake, it doesn’t seem to be slowing him down. He called the next day to invite her out for a rib dinner at some veteran’s club that he’s a member of. “You should go!” I encouraged.
“Ribs? At a veterans’s club? Please, there is a time and a place for ribs. This is not it. Besides I’m sure there’s going to be square-dancing, it’s all the rage for the old people down here to square dance. No ribs and no square dancing for me,” she said.
Granny can be so set in her ways sometimes. It’s somewhat frustrating but also refreshing that she’s so adamantly confident in what she likes and what she doesn’t. Ribs or no ribs I hope she gives him another shot. If not, I think it’s time we start perusing Match.com for a younger generation of men for Granny.