Mood: Disgusted, affronted
Style: Sexy work chic – polo neck, pencil skirt, fishnets, red shoes
Listening to: Vernon Kaye on Radio 1
What’s on today: 8am-3.15pm: work
I have a theory that men favour different parts of a woman’s body as they get older. Thus; in their twenties, blokes class themselves as ‘ass men’. I gather this is because they are at their most highly sexed during these years and the ass is probably the part of a woman which is more likely to conjure up carnal desires in the male of the species.
As men hit 30, their preference moves north and they start focusing on the boobular area of a lady. This may have something to do with their desire to start procreation.
40+ and legs are the man’s body part of choice. I have no idea why this is and I can’t even make up some psychobabble to try to define it. It may be complete bollocks but it’s something I’ve noticed.
I attract older men, always have done. When I was an 18-year-old barmaid, I was being chatted up by fellas in their 30s. Now, I get eyed up by men who were probably in the same school year as my dad.
I was standing at the bus stop after work the other day, minding my own business, large purple tote in the Victoria Beckham (crook) of my arm, when I am approached by a…being. He is balding, a good three inches shorter than me (and I’m only 5′ 6″ in my work heels), chubby, well into his forties.
IT: Excuse me, this is going to sound like a strange question but can I take you out for a drink sometime?
ME: (flustered, blushing) No thank you! (Turning quickly and probably slapping him around the face with my ponytail).
I don’t look but I imagine It scuttles back into the undergrowth.
Maybe I should think good on him for having a bash. Maybe I should’ve been a bit more polite. But I can’t help but feel affronted because he had his phone encased in his clammy little paws whilst he spoke to me. As if in certain anticipation that I would agree to his offer. Ewww.
There is no way that I can sugarcoat this, no way that I can make myself believe that this encounter is anything other than disturbing; the reasons being:
- He obviously thought he was in my league (I’m not necessarily blowing my own trumpet here, he was just really that bad);
- He probably thought I was older than I was. This is a common misconception. The Redhead (see Who’s Who) is 5 years older than me and has a child and yet people ALWAYS think I’m the eldest;
- He was probably drawn to my old-man-pleasing ensemble (see above).
So, what’s a girl who favours classic accessories and sexy shoes to do? Stick to black opaques and bin the fishnets? Embrace the sensible, flat shoe? Or count my blessings that I’m being chatted up at all and that I don’t need to rely on dates with strange, subterranean bods?
I think the latter has it.