Ring out the year with old
If anyone has learned anything in the year+ I’ve lived in Santa Barbara, it’s that I’ve barely dated or done anything blog-worthy. So, in December when I was feeling generous, I loosened up my age requirements and let the 65 year-olds take a stab at the Marn. As my Aunt says, “hello Daddy,” she also kindly pointed out that when the geezer goes, I can date their kids who are age-appropriate. Win-win as they say.
My first attempt was with the Jersey Shore meets the Grand Canyon guy. He meant well, but when all a guy has is showing you the inside of his RV, you have to think game over before it started. Besides, my dye job and comb over was better than his. My second session with the baby boomer cusp generation occurred 12 miles from my house. My date selected a nice wine bar in which we decided to drink draft beer. Three hours and two beers later I had John Belushi’s “Cheeseburger-Cheeseburger” routine in my head. Who the hell books at date at dinner and then doesn’t even order an appetizer? Mind you, I enjoyed his mild Bensonhurst accent, but a girl’s gotta eat.
When I got home, I bitched about manners (why book at date over the dinner hour) on Facebook and was kindly reminded by friends what an idiot of expectations I was. “Marna, you are dating a guy on a fixed income used to eating dinner at 4. Beer is dessert him.”
When I got home, I sent him a thank you email, which my manners have taught me to do for decades, good or bad. He wrote back and suggested a martini bar “near your place.” Right, because the cost of two draft beers is the price of future admisission to my vagina.