Not in Your Wildest Dreams

I want to start off by saying that Bob is not a bad guy. He is not a creepster douche bag that deserves a little mockery in exchange for disrespect. Instead, Bob is a guy that walked into my salon last Thursday morning, with a flimsy excuse to “scope out the digs”, who chatted me up for twenty minutes. He had a bejeweled band on his wedding finger, so I assumed he was married and just wanted to flirt. Then his inquiries got a little personal, and he asked me my age and whether or not I was “spoken for”. I replied, “You're married, Bob, not sure if that is appropriate.” He quickly cleared that misinterpretation up and said he was single and ready to mingle. I asked him how old he was, and seeing as how he complimented my forthrightness earlier in the conversation, he forgave my brazen question. He told me to guess (which, by the way, is one of my least favorite games) and I threw out a complimentary “41”. Nope. 55. So I chuckled, and said, “Well, Bob, I'm sorry to tell you this, but you are a bit too old for me.”
“Do you date men, Lacy? Or boys?”
“Oh, you know, mostly boys, and maybe some men. But you are too old. My dad is 55.” (I should note that this is not entirely true. My dad is a smidge older than 55. While most people lie about their age to cling onto those younger years, my dad is the opposite and has been lying about his age for years in order to appear older. You know how that man loves the senior citizen discounts.)
He didn't want to give up, so I reminded him that he had another dealbreaker, which is that he does not have a cell phone. No cell phone! This is New York City, and he is an actor with an agent that calls his home phone to set up appointments. Now, ditching the cell phone for two months in Argentina was liberating and good for the ol' soul, but this girl sends hundreds of texts a day and since I do not talk on the phone while at work, I rely on texting to communicate.
After a few more minutes of debate, primarily about the love of books being outweighed by the love of Mother Earth's resources, he finally left. And though he did not get a date or even a number, he was kind enough to tell me that I had amazing energy, and that he felt it from the street outside. I have put aside my usual snarkiness in the telling of yet another “men in New York” tale, because he was nice enough and not too creepy. Although let's get serious, the odds of the man finding, let alone reading, my blog are pretty slim.