A Personal Ad.

I am still trying to recover from the fact that I will never be 5’2”, 90lbs and blonde and also from the fact that geriatric men waiting in line at the butcher’s counter tell me I look like Natalie Wood and that I can only have my thinly sliced smoked turkey if I come home with them. Yes, that really happened, twice, ok well one time it was honey-glazed ham.

In high school, I kissed too many boys, in college I was full of lust and now I am merely boring. The pursuit of new boys is what got me through gym class, chemistry and driver’s education. I remember a certain khaki colored skirt and a certain boy named Rob who drove a TransAm and got his fair share of upper thigh during many safety videos splashed on the projection screen in the darkened classroom. When I attended fraternity parties my goal was always to make a pre-selected boy fall in love with me. It didn’t always work, but the pursuit was the fun part. I was witty, coy, charming and full of myself.

And since lately I spend my nights in sleazy suburban bars with my entourage of male friends I shouldn’t be surprised that my opportunities for romantic pursuit are limited if not non-existent. You must be thinking, well what about the entourage? I refer you back to high school when our life long relationships were spurred by surreptitious make out sessions in their parents’ basements. The fleeting frenetic connections that happened then are now attributed to a combination of hormones and boredom.

So I suppose I could dress up as a highly paid escort, make a phone call to the ex-convict and find myself in the corner booth of a swank bar smiling and nodding at an Armani clad heir to a Russian business empire. But that, like high school make out sessions, is only fleeting.

If only I could find a regular boy, with regular hopes and dreams, who likes to sleep in on Saturdays and go to brunch on Sundays. One who is funny and laughs at my frivolity rather than despises it. That’s all.