Despite being a happily-married, over-40, ginger from Kentucky, I can apparently still attract the men. Of course, that’s not necessarily a good thing.
One of my sisters and I decided to road trip to Atlanta for the NCAA basketball semi-final game. You may recall my fateful trip to New Orleans last April which culminated in my screaming at Doo through tears, “I am not driving you home, mother fletcher!” So this year we left husbands at home for some quality sister-time. Louisville won the game, there was very little drama, and apart from never being able to locate the stupid ESPN Gameday set-up − where were you, Jay Bilas! − we had a marvelous time.
What I didn’t anticipate, though, was how not having a man constantly at my side somehow equated to, “I’m single and looking for love.” And before you ask, yes, my wedding ring was on and no, I wasn’t dressed in brothel attire.
Bachelor number one? A 50-something farmer from Wisconsin at the game. Sure he weighed a little more than 350 pounds and my seat kept catching his thigh fat every time I stood, but Jerry and me hit it off. Maybe too well, in fact. Even after I told him about my four children and brilliant husband, he continued to pay me compliments and insinuate that we should meet up. Luckily the thrill of the victory carried me out of the arena before I had to address the issue. Sorry, Jerry!
Next up, a college student from Michigan. As Sis and I exited the 100-level area of the dome, a very good-looking guy approached, flashed me a gorgeous smile, and said something about tickets. Huh? What? Yes! And when I handed it over, he went straight for the hug. I don’t even embrace friends, let alone strangers, and I know he just wanted my seat, but he had a dimple! No, wait. I have a son not much younger than him. Eeewwww. Mrs. Robinson? I don’t think so.
Finally, a total dillhole who was only in town for the free concerts. When I went to the hotel bar later that night, El Dill launched into an abusive diatribe on how badly Michigan was going to beat Louisville in the championship. He obviously considered his little speech some kind of courtship ritual because as soon as my fries arrived and I turned to leave, he offered to buy me a drink. And not as an apology. No thanks, ya loser. I’d rather be with Jerry.
So it seems I’ve still “got it.” Just not sure if I want it. Peace out.