This week's guest blog is from RoseByAnyOtherName, which is a really long name. Rose, who is not as verbose as I am, is guest blogging to tell us a bit about her trials and tribulations with unacceptable, rhythmically-challenged elderly suitors. Enjoy! (-Queen of Spades)
Okay, let’s be honest, I know I’m not the most attractive girl in the bunch, but I’m not the ugliest duckling either. I’m 24, have a pretty face, nice smile, but I am overweight. I’ve never expected to wooed by the James Bond or model type men, but I certainly would have expected better than this. Tell me, do I have a GIANT sign on my forehead that says “WANTED: OVERLY UNATTRACTIVE, CREEPY, MIDDLE AGED MEN!”? Really? Please, if I’m giving this vibe, please tell me as I will certainly take this sign off my head and shred it into pieces.
To explain, I’ve looked about the same since I was 16 years old, just 3 inches taller and a few inches wider. People have had always had issues discerning whether I am in my teens or my mid-thirties. In my youth, I also went through a stage of wearing ugly, neon, full-length skirts. Luckily, I have outgrown this. I’ve personally been attracted to the average to slightly rounder sized men around 3 – 10 years older than me. However, that rarely seems to be what (not who) is attracted to me. With the few exceptions, I most often have the ugly, overly aggressive, not very tactful 40 something’s hitting on me. Joy.
Exactly a year ago (plus 2 days) I went to a Latin dance club with a group of girlfriends to celebrate my birthday. Very excited and all dressed up, I just wanted to be my “dancin’ fool” self & cut a rug on a rugless dance floor. The first man to ask me to dance was not a particularly attractive man (or not at all). But, I wanted to dance so I said yes. After agreeing, I immediately regretted my decision. Instead of gracefully twirling me around the rugless dance floor in a samba, he pulled me excruciatingly close to his sweaty, middle-aged belly while staring at me quite intensely. We then reenacted the rhythmically challenged “weebles wobble but they don’t fall down" mating ritual. (Side-to-side, side-to-side.)
Fleeing the Weeble's clutching embrace, I quickly ran back to my girlfriends, glad that my laterals had gotten a good workout, but also horrified that someone old enough to be my father was persistently pursuing me across the rugless dance floor. After cornering me, he asked me out for a drink. I respectfully declined as I require that my dates be born within the same generation as I. Plus, I have a No Weebles policy. And, his lack of rhythm was shameful.
Shame, Weeble, shaaaaame.
Now, exactly a year later (and two days), I have been on several dates, some sketchy and some regrettably with pot fiends. Suffice it to say, I am still single. Signing myself up for match.com in a fit of boredom (and perhaps a little hope), I aspired to perhaps go on a semi-normal date for once with someone my age, with moderately-conservative values, who perhaps might like a crazy, now-24 year old like me. Could that be too much to ask?
Yes, in fact.
Then comes the dreaded WINK!
Only noticing that it was a 40-something, unattractive male, I immediately deleted the message. Five minutes later, after pondering the familiarity of this middle-aged man, I had to take another look. IT WAS WEEBLE! I do have to say at least he was honest in his profile picture as it was an honest representation of his weeble self. Horrified and completely amused, I had to call Queen of Spades. Before telling her anything, I sent her the link to his profile and asked if she recognized him. Laughing hysterically with her office minions near, she immediately calls me screaming, “WEEBLES WOBBLE, BUT THEY DON’T FALL DOWN!!!!!!!!!!!"
After dodging Weeble's second email after his ill fated wink and still laughing like a deranged hyena, I have established that besides wobbling, weebles also never give up!
Side note: Two minutes later, another unattractive, creepy, 40-something winked at me.
It never ends.
Posts
