First OkCupid message from a 26-year-old: “Well you seem like a great person to get to know. But i know you might think about it because of my age but if you know most older guys act like little kids and well i am more mature and i do like older women”
Does anyone want to be called an “older woman?” This is not flattering to me. I’m not geriatric, you little shit. I’m not eating cheesecake with Blanche and Dorothy out on the lanai. (Though that’d be amazing and IS my retirement plan.)
My profile specifies no one under 35 — twice. Clearly he saw that. But obviously what you want supersedes what I want.
Today’s OkCupid intro message winner, from a 22-year-old: “Milf or nawwwww?”
That was the entire message.
I have questions.
I’m not an “M,” no. But how the shit am I supposed to know if I’m the “ILF?” How do I know who YOU’D like to fuck?
Or is that your whole thing, that you don’t want to fuck me UNLESS I’ve log-flumed a person out of my body? That’s pretty messed up if you only want to get in vaginas that babies came out of. I try not to push therapy on everyone, but damn, Oedipus, you should speak to someone.
Or am I SO old that I’m just out of touch with you young people and your vernacular, and “MILF” has come to include any of us lascivious Mrs. Robinson types into whom you want to smash your post-adolescent, quick-draw, Miller-Lite-limpened dick after your frat house beer pong tournament?
Confession: After all that, I’m not sure what it says about me that I’m most offended by the “nawwwww.”
Intro message from a guy on OkCupid: “Hey honey are u into young guys”
OK, first off, that sounds a little statutory.
Next, dude is 30, so I’m half tempted to write him back and say, “I’m totally into young guys, but yesterday a 20-year-old said he would be down for one-night-only sex — so it’d be like a concert…of dick. So if I were to go with Mrs. Robinson kink, it’d be with him. At least he used punctuation, and at least I’d literally be old enough to be his mother, so we could have the full experience. It’d be downright Oedipal.”
Further, in the words of the immortal Melanie Carmichael/Smooter, “Don’t you ‘honey’ me, honey.”
And finally…30 isn’t that young. I mean, it’s too young for ME, but it’s 10 years, fuckface. I’ve dated 10 years older, it was fine. I’m not Stifler’s mom, man. Slow your roll.
In an email titled “Goddamn whippersnapper,” a friend sent me this Buzzfeed article, and I need someone to make this guy NOT 20. He can’t be 20. He doesn’t look 20. That is massively unfair, as is this lady boner I have for him.
I am a goddamn dirty old lady. I could have babysat him. I could not, legally*, get him drunk enough to fuck me, because you know he only bangs other 20-year-old supermodels and, in his eyes, I might as well be that vat of fat Oprah wheeled out in the wagon that time, a reference this guy WOULD NOT GET BECAUSE HE IS FUCKING TWENTY. Twen-TY.
My vagina doesn’t seem to care about any of this information. I’ll be in my bunk.
*The friend points out that I COULD legally get him drunk enough to fuck me in his home country, so now I’m looking into flights to Australia, as well as the safest ways to approach and cuddle koalas, and the going rate for a keg of Foster’s. (Note to self: Rent Crocodile Dundee. I bet he’s never seen THAT, either. I have so much to teach him, you guys. First and fore[play]most: how appreciative middle-aged women can be when you go down on them.)