Apparently old age is settling in as I grow closer and closer to 30, and memory loss has begun. I forgot that everyone ages, even 22-year-olds.
Inbetween Mephistopheles and Kiefer Sutherland, I frequented the bars…quite a bit. Not so much to drink (although there were a couple occurences of alcohol overindulgence) but to catch up with friends that I hadn’t seen in awhile.
Here’s what I learned. Pay attention because I’m about to drop some knowledge.
Bars are full of 22-year-olds.
And apparently 22-year-olds are drawn to me like a magnet. Every guy who approached me was 22. I kid you not. E-v-e-r-y guy. And it didn’t seem to matter what bar I went to.
At the time I was 26, so 4 years is not a huge age difference, it’s definitely doable. Except for the life experience part. 22-year-olds are fresh out of college, and they’re still kind of in that college partying mentality. And that’s not for me. I wasn’t that deep into the college partying mentality when I was in college, so why would I want to go through it now?
A friend actually tried to convince me to give the 22-year-olds a chance. Her argument was that they were young, impressionable…trainable. Trainable. A 22-year-old boyfriend would be like a puppy. Seriously? I saw them more as obnoxious teenagers who I would constantly have to refer to this blog: You’re a Grown Man.
A couple weeks ago I went out with Princess while Kiefer Sutherland played poker. Princess introduced me to some guy she works with who, after some polite conversation, made his interest in me known. You know how old he was?
24. That means he was 22 during my 22-year-old epidemic. The moral of the story: 22-year-olds age, too (or two years). Yes, they do.
Hope you have a good weekend and be careful of 22- and 24-year-olds!