Ok, yeah, I balked a little at first when I realized I was invisible to men under 35-years-old. I remember the day I walked down a busy street in a flirty skirt and realized that skateboarder dude didn’t even look up reflexively to check me out. But news flash young men loitering on park benches, I don’t find you attractive either! Ha! Take that (and pull up your damn baggy pants while you’re at it because I so don’t need to see your underwear during my lunch hour.)
I discovered my preference for slightly crinkled faces while waiting at the orthodontist’s office, perusing People’s hottest men of the year issue. (I swear to you, I’m not using the ortho as cover. I didn’t buy the magazine. You hear me? I do not buy People magazine.) For some bizarre reason, People had broken down this year’s hunkiest into age categories. I was buzzing through the sweeties in their 20s thinking, “Really? So don’t see it. I would rather pat him on the head than on the ass.” The guys in the 30s were okay. A couple cuties, but nothing to leave my husband for. My interest didn’t really get piqued until I turned to the page with the men in the 40s and 50s. Now we’re talkin’. Hell, everybody knows George Clooney didn’t start getting spectacularly yummy until mid-way through E.R. That man can work a wrinkle like nobody’s business.
Much to my surprise, it turns out I don’t find a man alluring until he’s earned some gray hairs the hard way. I like a man who has been around the block and can stop and ask for directions if he can’t find his way back. I like a guy who knows how to win a woman’s heart (by cleaning the kitchen without being asked.) Know what’s really hot? A guy that has had his spirit broken by a tantruming toddler. I mean Yabba dabba doo!, know what I mean?
So, yeah, skateboarding hooligan, keep contemplating your wheels while I’m walking by in my cute skirt. But, dude, can you hook me up with your dad? I bet he’s smokin’ hot.