Last Thursday was my very last day of Vietnamese language class. I sat in the hallway, right outside of the classroom, with about ten other of my classmates as we waited for the teacher to test us on our Vietnamese dialogue individually.
As we were waiting, I was telling half of them about a story how I was asked out to lunch by a 50 or 60-year-old man on school campus last year, and how it grossed me out. It grossed them a little out too (I am 21 years old for those who don’t know). Few minutes later, one of the classmates, Caucasian man in his late 40′s-possibly early 50′s, walked out of the classroom, looking refreshed as ever now that he had gotten his finals done and over with.
He walks towards us and says, “Well, I’m done, it was a pleasure having you guys in my class.”
“Yeah, thanks, you too,” The four of us replied (not in the exact words and time of course).
He turns to me, not looking quite refreshed as he was a minute ago, and starts to blink excessively.
Please don’t do what I think you’re going to do. Please.
He opens his mouth, and after a few stutters, he ask, “Do you-do you think I can get your information?” He hands me his notebook and pen, “I want to keep in touch. And you wanted to take drum class…and so do I.”
I was right. My worst fear of taking this class with him always sitting next to me came to reality. He asked for my number. And not only that, it was witnessed by everybody in my class, whom I just informed–just a few minutes ago–about the other old head who asked me out to lunch last year.
Fucking-a, can this get anymore awkward?
I sure as hell did not want to put my number down for him, yet at the same time, I really didn’t want to embarrass him in front of our classmates either. He’s actually a nice guy. If he was a perverted, horny, dirty-mouthed little fuck, I wouldn’t give a shit. But he isn’t. And I didn’t have the balls to give him back his notebook with an empty page.
Okay, think. Think. Think. I was given a notebook and pen without a gotdamn choice. What could I possibly write down in his black book that would benefit both of us?
I scribble my information down and handed him back his notebook. He looks at the page, his facial expression didn’t change.
It was my email address.
“Well thanks,” he stares at the page, then begins to study it as if it was an encryption to my phone number. After realizing what I had written down for him probably wouldn’t suffice, he takes his wallet out of his back pocket and hands me his business card, “here’s my card, call me.”
Boy I sure hope there’s a working block feature on Gmail.
I wouldn’t have written that recent incident if it didn’t happen that often, but it does, and I’m sad. The average of a young guy (20-30 age range) hitting on me irl is equivalent to getting flu shots: once a year (exaggeration not included). However, the average of a 45+ older white man is, believe it or not, roughly five to eight times a year. *Also, I hope I didn’t offend anyone but I say white because they have always been white..and older.
I don’t know why I attract them, older men. I probably smell like death, or the complete opposite, I exude some kind of magical scent of Asian persuasion that only works on 45+ year old males. Still, I’m perplexed.
Maybe it’s because I talk too much. I’m known to carry very long conversations with strangers of any age, size, and ethnicity as long as the topic interests me-but the strangers I talk to are always a lot older. I guess old people got a lot to talk about. And I guess, the longer you’re willing to listen and converse with them, the more they think you’re attracted to them.
Then again, I tend to display subtle hints or signs to show that I’m not interested…but then again, I don’t think men, of any age really, is capable of reading hints from the opposite sex anyway.
Have I dated any of them?
Yeah, twice, it was weird.
Just kidding.
In all honesty, I can’t date a man who’s old enough to be my father, simply because I don’t think I can relate to somebody who has already gone through at least 20 years of life, 20 years of life of which I haven’t even lived through yet.
Even if they were talented, rich, sexy man beasts like Brad Pitt and Viggo Mortensen–gawd are they sexy–I still wouldn’t do it. I just can’t relate. To relate, ‘least for me, creates connection and bonding, therefore I can’t date older men.
Also, if they had a daughter around my age, there’s a chance she and I would end up becoming one another’s BFFs. Kiss and tell would be a little awkward.
