“Wanna find a dark corner and make out?”

So yeah, I went out on Friday night, got drunk, flirted/abused some young men. It was awesome.

What’s also awesome is that I may be a top class spinny but I know fucking KNOW ME.

(I just dared myself to use the eff word).

I’m taking you to the party. Come with me…

I’m standing with my friend, who naturally is ten years younger than me, and stunning. We’re in the kitchen area of this AMAZING downtown loft, and we’re drinking the champagne we bought with us.

There was no Beverly Hills BS going on in this room. It was a bit hipster, arty, a tiny bit studenty, definitely a bit London/New York. It was fucking brills (I didn’t dare myself to use that eff word, that just popped out).

Then these two guy arrive and start talking to us.

One was this coffee-coloured Sopranos type in an over-sized brown shirt. Stout with a bald head and clearly half-cut, he was all sweaty swagger and misplaced bravado. His nervy friend was a preppy fella with a tight, short afro, wearing a navy-blue sleeveless sweater and thick-rimmed glasses.

Prepboy chatted to me first (It’s always the same, ‘Are you from Canada?’ ‘No, London’, and then they do their Dick Van Dyke impersonation. Happens EVERY time I meet new people. Get a new schtick fellas.).

They whispered to each other, then did a very obvious switcheroo which left me talking to the Sopranos dude.

Immediately he says to me, ‘What would you say if I asked you to dinner?’

‘I would say no’.

‘Really?’

‘Yes’

‘Why?’

‘I don’t know you.’

(Sidenote: He was also utterly charmless. I mean, if this works on women, I feel sorry for those women.)

‘Ask me anything.’

‘What do you do?’

‘I’m a trash collector.’

Ok, so this is his idea of flirty banter. But I go with it.

‘Great, someone has to do it. Is it well-paid?’

‘No.’

‘It should be.’

He takes a step closer. I press myself back against the kitchen counter. I don’t want to be any closer. I know he is not someone I want to go on a date with or in fact, be in a conversation with for much longer. I’m not flattered by his attention. It’s bothersome to me.

Then he says THIS.

‘Do you wanna find a dark corner and make-out?’

To which I laugh in his face. Yes, laugh. Loudly.

It’s such a RIDICULOUS suggestion.

Why would I ever want to do that?

I’m an amazing woman. I took a few wrong turns and maybe that’s why I’m still single but I am not desperate. Also, I’m not 18-years-old, I don’t have to make out with any old bloke who asks.

I do not want to kiss this man. I don’t even want him to touch me. Actually, by now, I just want him to go away.

He seems offended by my laughter. ‘What?”

‘Why would I do that with you?’

‘Why not?’

He’s a persistent little bugger.

‘You need to find someone else to hit on. This is so not where I am at. Or what I’m looking for. But it was nice talking to you.’ (British, always polite).

I turn slightly. This conversation is over.

So, was I harsh?

Actually, I don’t care about that, all I care about is that I KNOW MYSELF.

I don’t have time to waste on charmless, sweaty bald guys who are unable to offer me nothing.

I want quality. Not flattery.

Men, you are going to have to up your game to find a way into my life, let alone my knickers.

I may be older but these wrinkles contain wise DNA.

And mister, when I find you. I will know.

And then we’ll make out in dark corner. HELL YEAH!!!

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