Life On The Border

A man of my years should be flattered.  I mean really – the young woman is very attractive.  She’s got a great smile, an impressive physique, and a devilish look in her eye.  She gazed at me from the border and made saucy suggestions about how I might spend my time with her.

There she is again!  This time, she targeting people who are over 70 and want to learn to speak Balkan.  Is Balkan even a language?  How can anyone over 70 resist her siren song?! (Image stolen from my very own Facebook border)
There she is! She bears little resemblance to what I imagined a linguist would look like, but maybe she’s just a really attractive one.  Maybe she enjoys teaching mature men how to speak foreign languages.  Can anyone over 50 resist her siren song?! (Image stolen from my very own Facebook border)

She seductively stared at me from the right hand margin of my Facebook page and tried to catch my eye – as if her curvaceous form and sassy attitude didn’t already trump yet another pet memorial from one of my junior high social-studies classmates.

“Watch this crazy linguistics video!” she purred.  I may be a little long in the tooth, but I know a come-on when I see one.  Kids today and their zany euphemisms!  I almost had to blush at the thought of what “linguistics” must mean.  I’m not sure if this girl is a centerfold, a zumba instructor or both, but if she was into “linguistics” then more power to her!

“If you don’t know French and are age 50+ you’ll want to see this video immediately” she cooed to me.

She’s going to teach me “French”?  There’s a video?!  I can’t believe they’d let such a flagrant seductress on Facebook!  I must admit that the idea of a girl who’s this interested in men twice her age is a little off-putting.   After brief consideration, I supposed she preferred her playmates to be in bifocals.  Maybe she’d tired of the guys of her own generation who spent all their time at the gym and playing video games.  Those young pups are too busy trying to kill zombies and aliens to invest the time needed to learn how to take a relationship with a beautiful young woman to the next level using “French” and “linguistics”.

Being a crafty old coot, I knew better than to jump too soon.  I let her think I wasn’t all that interested.  Perhaps she’d think that I already knew French.  Patience is one of the most critical things I’ve learned over these past couple of decades – that and the importance of getting enough fiber in my diet.

Before I could make my move, she’d disappeared and was replaced by a real estate ad  for a 2 bedroom condo in the Village.  Who would be crazy enough to think that I’d be in the market for a condo in the Village?  People who are 50+ and don’t speak French are woefully out of place in a locale as trendy as that.  Do some research, advertising people!

When the Greenwich Village condo ad was replaced by one for a South Jersey Subaru dealer, I was worried that my playing hard-to-get had left the raven-haired vixen feeling rejected.  The poor thing had put herself out there so brazenly, and I had ignored her.  I was such a mean, sexy old grouch.  By now, she’d likely given up explaining the three families of French verbs to the wrinkled masses and was drowning her sorrows doing keg-stands with the Grand Theft Auto players from down the hall.

Just as suddenly as she had vanished, she reappeared in my Facebook border.  I was overjoyed to see her.  I tried to play it cool, though.  I knew fawning all over her ad would be the wrong move.  While only casting discrete glances in her direction, I felt like there was something different.  Was it her smile?  Had she lost a bit of the free-spirit in her eyes?  Her cup size and sexually-defiant posture certainly seemed unchanged.  Then I saw it!  She was looking to teach Italian to the over 60 set!

I’d had my chance, and I’d blown it.  She’d moved on to guys who were even older than me.  I can pass for 49 1/2 in the right light, but only a hottie with a severe astigmatism would think I was in my 60’s.  It was over between us before it had ever really started.  The bitter taste of rejection must have pushed this sweet young linguist over the edge.  She’d abandoned her desire to teach French to younger-old guys like me.  She lowered the bar to working on Italian with gents who had Geritol on their breath and a water glasses full of dentures soaking on the nightstand.

It’s all just as well I suppose.  Married men of my age have no business learning foreign languages from swimsuit models.  Still, I had let my mind go down that path and now my humdrum life seems to ache for a new direction.  I’m thinking that maybe I should reconsider a place in the Village.  If my wife says no, then I’ll have to settle for a Subaru.

Vixen – Back From The Edge – Blogfestivus Series

Can you find the hidden picture among Santa's reindeer?  Just kidding, there's no hidden pictures!
Can you find the hidden picture among Santa’s reindeer? Just kidding, there’s no hidden pictures!

Clean and sober goin’ on 80-some years now.  Nothing worse than a reformed boozer though, right?  Running with the boys was a blast, but speed kills.  Who’d know that better than a flying reindeer?

One time in France, I was on a bender with Dancer.  We’d been to the Folies, saw Josephine Baker do the Banana Dance.  I was drinking gin and had show girls fondling my antlers.  We ended up in a smokey club and I started hitting the absinthe.  Thats’s when things got weird.  I was so twisted, I saw a little man in green calling me a “horny arse”.  I closed my eyes to escape the apparition, and when I opened them, he was gone.

Bouncers and bartenders were pushing us outside and yelling at us.  The show girls had disappeared.  I would have thought they were illusions too, except for the silk stocking I found hanging from my antlers in the jail cell.  Dancer was piss drunk, and amused by everything.

As the absinthe high faded and Dancer slept off the champagne, I sat there thinking.  I had 7 other deer, a fat guy and millions of kids counting on me.  We had no GPS or Rudolph back then.  A sleigh full of toys falling out of control because of stoned reindeer would not make a pretty landing.

I walked out of that cell on changed hooves.  It’s been nothing stronger than oats and Arctic raspberries for me ever since.

Below is a list of the links to my fellow Blogfestivus writers.  I hope they appreciate the effort I’m expending here.  I’m delivering them the gift of readers and potential followers, all tied up with a pretty bow.  Hey!  Stop picking at that bow!

Blogdramedy (Ring Leader, reindeer enthusiast, generally cool chick)

Steve BetzRewind ReviseLenore DianeShouts from the Abyss

Fit it or DealLynn Schneider BooksSo I Went Undercover

Joe Owen’s BlogMC’s WhispersLittleWonder2  –

Blog It or Lose It!Voice in MeApprentice, never master

A Year of Daily PostsDiary of a Sensitive SoulDot Knows!k8edid

Can you find the hidden picture among Santa's reindeer?  Just kidding, there's no hidden pictures!
Can you find the hidden picture among Santa’s reindeer? Just kidding, there’s no hidden pictures!