“Oh boy,” I thought, “I’m going to the senior village where I can actually just be friends with men without all those sex games.” Yes, I am naïve.
Walking down the corridor, Steve called me over to a bench he was sitting upon. He took my hands in his hands, gazed intently into my eyes and asked, “Are you happy?” “Yes.” I answered honestly. “No…are you REEAALLY happy?” he asked again. What the heck? Is he trying to use NLP on me? Is HE going to make me happy?
“Look, if you know anybody happier than me, please introduce me. I like knowing happy people.” And I got up and walked away. He pursued me for awhile and when I told him to leave me alone, he threatened to report me for ‘violating his rights.’
A man (who shall remain nameless) is considered an attractive catch around here, I guess because he’s tall and slim, has a car and a functional brain. The bar is pretty low. I got in the elevator and asked if he was going to the lobby. He said dreamily, “I was just standing here thinking about you.” WTH?
He later joined our group and offered to drive me to the church picnic. I thought, “Hmmm..well, it’s a ride…How much trouble can brew at a church picnic?” So I went. The passenger side door of his car didn’t open and when I asked him about it he said, “I did that in case I don’t want to let the woman out.” I hope that was a joke.
I always thought the macho/seductive act was stupid even when teenagers did it-and I was also a teenager, complete with hormones. Do you know how laughable that act is when the guy is 75 years-old, hunched over, and smells like moth balls?
Just be your selves men! And stop glancing at my boobs. To be fair, I have made friends with a few men who are good, genuine human beings. I like men. I like their perspective and humor.
But yesterday the local creep known as Rick the Prick watched me yank a limb out of an overhanging tree. He always lurks around watching women, like a stealth predator. He’s known as Rick the Prick because of his vast collection of pornography, or as I call it-his Wank Bank. I was trying to ignore him. “Wow, I was worried that limb would fall on you,” he said, lying. “No, I know how to do this.” “Wow, you’re like a farmer’s daughter,” he said, probably fantasizing about my imagined gymnastic abilities.
Yeah. I am a farmer’s daughter, stupid. And I’m holding a sharp grub hoe, so keep your distance.
I have nothing against sex and sometimes seniors fall in love. That’s nice. I can beat most of these old farts down and for the few who are still ambulatory, I say, “Don’t start nothing and there won’t be nothing.”
Or go ahead and start something and you will, at best, limp away from that encounter.