I’ve always had a weakness for older men. Early in middle school, I remember how all the girls were completely obsessed with New Kids on the Block, giddy over the fantasy prospect of possibly meeting, let alone marrying one of those zit-faced, ass-bandits. Myself? I was content to lie in bed and stare up at my gigantic poster of David Bowie. I’d lose myself in his mismatched eyes, while a loop of him reciting my favorite line from the movie Labyrinth ran over and over again in my head: “Love me, fear me, and I will be your slave.” Even now, just thinking of him makes me smile downstairs.
I chalked up my obsession with the Thin White Duke as a silly school girl crush and figured when it came time to actually start dating, I’d be more interested in boys closer to my own age, but the pattern continued. My prom date happened to be the guy voted “most mature” in the superlatives because he was the only student in my high school with a receding hairline. The few serious boyfriends I’ve had in the last decade have all had a good 10 years on me. And I still think David Bowie is one hot son of a bitch, in or out of make-up. Is it because of my adult-like moments of sophistication, some sick Freudian daddy complex, or just a coincidence that I still seem to be stuck in this amorous constellation? I really can’t say.
Recently, my friend Jay told me he believes that girls truly are five years ahead of guys when it comes to maturity. “That’s why it works with my girlfriend,” he explained. “She’s five years ahead maturity wise, and I’m five years behind maturity wise. We meet somewhere in between!”
But in my case, I wonder if it has anything to do with maturity, considering most guys I’ve dated seemed to have very little. That’s not meant to be a dig at any of them, but more often than not, I’ve felt like the “mom” in our relationships, which is just creepy on so many levels. When it comes to my small menagerie of older ex-boyfriends, I’ve loaned them money, picked up their dirty laundry, done their dishes, and driven their drunk asses home from a bar. Trust me, I’m not one of those personality types that get off on taking care of someone else. If anything, I’m the one who needs to be taken care of: I’m sloppy, insecure as hell, and never eat right. Who’s gonna be my daddy, er, never mind.
Maybe it’s time to ditch the older guys cold turkey. Obviously If I’m going to date men who behave like drunken college boys, then maybe I should just bag an actual drunken college boy — at least they have some stamina.
I’ve been fortunate enough to work with a few College of Charleston students on my latest comedy show, HOBO: The Musical, and I have to say, they are adorable, and unlike most of the men I’ve known, haven’t had enough experience at life to be bitter about it yet. They’re just kids, but think about how much they have to learn! I should become the Mrs. Robinson of CofC, teaching the budding young lads that you can be romantic even if you have no money, why it’s important to ask about your girlfriend’s day, and how to pleasure a woman correctly before bad habits set in. At least then, the bachelors of the future might not be such disappointments to the younger female generation.
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