As an early 30-something who has increasingly become aware of the aging process, I’ve become ever more aware of the importance of my appearance. I’m dressing differently, eating differently, and botoxing differently (as in, I never had to until now). I’ve also started to look at relationships differently…and let’s face it, who doesn’t at this age. After all, gravity starts to work against you, naps become a habit, and you can no longer stay up until 6 in the morning (partying at the hotel, motel, holiday inn). So, I began to think that settling down might have to become my reality. After all, who wouldn’t like the comfort of a significant other to come home to and a constant in a world that has become unsteady?
Enter Mr. Ring, a situation I now like to call like to call my ring-around-the-rosie. (see http://www.funtrivia.com/askft/Question57190.html for further explanation) I had stability with Mr Ringaround - a glorious car, boat, a house, and all things shiny. Yet the thing we don’t realize in these rosie rings, is that the sparkly surface doesn’t hold a candle to the rust on the inside. So, after two years the relationship came to a screeching halt, an itchy sweater situation if you will, over a heated argument about garbage bags (yes you read that correctly), a spaghetti dish that was left in the sink too long (i.e. 10 min. after I had eaten off of it), and multiple discussions about his disappointment in my hair color.
The aftermath of this relationship of course brought to surface rage and utter disappointment in the opposite sex.
But then…Along came Paully. With trepidation I accepted his advances, even though he was client and I still don’t trust the assholes I refer to as men. Ahh! What’s a girl to do? Usually after exiting a relationship I like to slip into my alter ego and block out the pain with nonsense, chaos, and making out with random bouncers, bartenders, what have you. I figure that since I’m kind of a big deal, why not share the love.
Yet this new boy has become increasingly famous and I find myself not wanting to kick my shananigans into high gear, and instead revel in the fact that I’m actually dating a nice guy. So far, he’s actually a gentleman who also just happens to be a bail bondsman and bounty hunter (yeah yeah, “dog”) but can you say SEXY?! Seeing your man suit up with tre pound on his hip and teflon on his chest is definitely hot. But alas, there has to be a catch…isn’t there always? Brace yourself…my Paul, sweet Paul, is six years YOUNGER than me. So even though he’s gloriously famous, has a good head on his shoulders, and knows how to make me smile (in every sort of way), I still have to deal with the fact that when Paully came along, so did my cougar status. Yikes. Drink to the roaring 30’s.
Enter Mr. Ring, a situation I now like to call like to call my ring-around-the-rosie. (see http://www.funtrivia.com/askft/Question57190.html for further explanation) I had stability with Mr Ringaround - a glorious car, boat, a house, and all things shiny. Yet the thing we don’t realize in these rosie rings, is that the sparkly surface doesn’t hold a candle to the rust on the inside. So, after two years the relationship came to a screeching halt, an itchy sweater situation if you will, over a heated argument about garbage bags (yes you read that correctly), a spaghetti dish that was left in the sink too long (i.e. 10 min. after I had eaten off of it), and multiple discussions about his disappointment in my hair color.
The aftermath of this relationship of course brought to surface rage and utter disappointment in the opposite sex.
But then…Along came Paully. With trepidation I accepted his advances, even though he was client and I still don’t trust the assholes I refer to as men. Ahh! What’s a girl to do? Usually after exiting a relationship I like to slip into my alter ego and block out the pain with nonsense, chaos, and making out with random bouncers, bartenders, what have you. I figure that since I’m kind of a big deal, why not share the love.
Yet this new boy has become increasingly famous and I find myself not wanting to kick my shananigans into high gear, and instead revel in the fact that I’m actually dating a nice guy. So far, he’s actually a gentleman who also just happens to be a bail bondsman and bounty hunter (yeah yeah, “dog”) but can you say SEXY?! Seeing your man suit up with tre pound on his hip and teflon on his chest is definitely hot. But alas, there has to be a catch…isn’t there always? Brace yourself…my Paul, sweet Paul, is six years YOUNGER than me. So even though he’s gloriously famous, has a good head on his shoulders, and knows how to make me smile (in every sort of way), I still have to deal with the fact that when Paully came along, so did my cougar status. Yikes. Drink to the roaring 30’s.
2 comments:
First of all YAY and CHEERS to being a 30 something cougar like m yself!
I say you should just keep doin what you're doing with Paully, you never know, he could be the one missy!
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