I Have A Theory

OK. I have a theory that in the next decade all of the men my age will be somehow involved and probably breed with the ever popular, perky, passive, moronic women, thus throwing the world as we know it into total tumult.


Don’t worry though, strong, ambitious, intelligent, Godly women like myself will be very well off and still control most of the civilized world. Though, let’s face it, those touristy-spring-break spots will be overrun with overly-tan-fake-blonde multiple divorcee reject soccer moms and their bastard children. We’ll let them have Vail, too. Inbreeding will ensue, then a plague, then World War... no, wait, I think the plague will be enough. Besides Syphilis makes people go blind, and sharks live in the ocean... I digress.


Why will me and my—albeit limited—kind be well off, you ask? Well, we’ll marry men twice or thrice our age. They’ll teach us investing skills, and leave us their estates, vineyards, orchards etc. In recent experiences, older men out-class and out-charm any guy my own age. Example: tonight at Jazz two kindly older gentlemen asked my friend and I if we would be, “obliged to let them buy us an after dinner drink.” We accepted. Then they asked us to join them. A Glenlivet and soda for me, and an Absolute cranberry for my friend and we were well into conversation.


This interaction was eons more civilized and productive than the creeper who ambled up to me at * insert dive bar here * last night.


EXIT FRIEND TO POWDER ROOM. ENTER CREEPER IN BARET’.

“So, umm, can I ask you how much you purses cost? Cause you know, like, some women will pay $1,000 for a purse.”

“No. I wouldn’t spend that much money on a purse.”

“That’s really all I have to say.”

“Ok.”

EXIT CREEPER.


Not only did he not offer to buy me a drink, but he also had nothing to say. It’s really difficult to tell someone off, and/or be witty when the guy can’t even formulate a conversational topic. Thus, I have a new policy, if a guy wants to talk to me, he can at least buy me a freaking well drink first. C’mon at least TRY to be charming, Neanderthal.


I’ve always liked old people and that is because of the stories and experiences they have, thus making them good, well-rounded and interesting people. They also still retain the class of the (gulp) 1940s. So what? Men my age think that they don’t have to try with women, much less charm them. They even go so far as to not get married, because of the commitment. Wouldn’t a childless marriage be less of a commitment than having several beach-bum-bastard children swarming around, pleading from their hick-toothed gins for another Shasta?


By the way, my successful female friends and I will control the alcohol flow in this country, well at least the beer and wine flow—vineyards and breweries. So remember that all of you 20 something jerks, when you roll over in the morning and tell your strange Chlamydia infested lover to get movin’ cause your second wife is on her way home from the tanning salon. Because wouldn't a beer be nice about now?


So 20 something guys, please take note and give more than your usual minimal effort to improve yourselves: 60 yr old men are more apt and able to have a conversation with me than any of you. This might be because I drink premium scotch and like jazz, but I also believe it’s because I have the mentality of the 1940s woman; to work hard and look good while doing it and above all to be strong. I wear my class in my eyes and keep my chin up. So look me in the eyes and keep YOUR chin up.

The End.