Currently Chasing: A Mentee

Ok, so I’m back to a question I’ve wondered about over and over for quite some time. How young is too young?

The other day my brother came to visit. He is 21. We went in to the Olive Garden (or the OG as I like to call it) and I went right up to the counter and put my name down for two people. She looked at my brother, and back at me, and then said, “right this way.”

Ok, hold the fucking menus! Did she just size us up as a couple? Does she think I’m fucking dating this guy? And then it hit me. The only reason I’m so outraged is because I’m related to him. This could easily be Mr. Bob Evans, or Mr. Wawa, or even a mystery mister I’ve been chatting up recently. But it’s not, it’s my brother, and in my mind, that’s the only thing that made it wrong. And I’m not sure if that’s right.

Take my recent conversation with 24-year-old Bob Evans for example. (This is a text conversation so I copied it word for word.):

Me: Are you working? We are thinking about coming there for lunch.

Him: Yea, don’t bother today. I’m sick n I look like shit n most importantly my voice is cracking n fading. I can’t believe they r still making me work cause I def sound like shit.

Me: We still want to come there despite your inability to talk.

Him: Fuck that. I didn’t shave, my hair looks like shit n we’re busy so I couldn’t even really talk, not that you could hear me neways!! Just see me early next wk when hopefully this shits gone. Plzzzzzz!!

Me: Geezus! Ok. We’ll go to Dennys. I never knew my food choice would revolve around your hair.

Him: Well after Dennys ull enjoy the food here that much more. Try not to fuck your waiter tho. J

And there you have it. Young, dumb and full of smart ass shit.

I mean, some of the men I’ve dated even have facebook status messages that are too young for me.

“Just stuck a cheeto up my nose and am still kicking ass in call of duty. I rule.”

“New discovery. Conditioner is better for jerking off than baby oil. And it’s cheaper.”

“I just had to wipe vomit off my computer keyboard to type this status message.”

You get my point. I hear all the time that age is just a number. But come on. Is it really? My age isn’t just a number. It’s a stereotype. It’s a minute and a half addition to the allotted time on my company run. It’s a line here and a gray hair there. It’s weight and a very slow metabolism. It’s cynicism. It’s doubt. And for some reason these days, it seems to be a selling point.

And you know what, fuck it. And I’m growing tired of the word Cougar. I’m relabeling it with mentor. When I was 22 I was dating a guy who was 33. I loved him. I hated him. I cried with him. I laughed with him. I got engaged to him. I cheated on him. I left him. It’s only fair that I give that same opportunity to other lost 22 year olds in this world. So come here baby, let me get that cheeto out of your nose.