story time.

My friend got a phone call from another friend who told him this story (in a nutshell):

She's been dating this one guy for a few months. Things have been going great, he's active, great personality, blah blah blah. She has a successful career, owns a home, is really fit, more blahblahs. Basically, things are going well for these two love birds. He told her that he owns a condo up north, but has been sketch on answering questions like, "Who takes care of your lawn?" and "What's your interest rate?" Ok, let me interject for a moment that after only a few months of dating, these are kind of weird questions to be asking, but whatever. Right? No? I'm not in my forties, so maybe that has something to do with it. Did I mention that? They're in their forties. Keep that in mind.

SO she did a little research on the guy and somehow (give me a break... thanks to the graces of some wonderfully invasive Internet search tools) found out that not only do his parents actually own the condo, but they live next door. Wowsers. (He had been saying that they live far away... nice one.) It's one thing if you can't afford a home or were hit by the economic bitch slap and lost your home, but come on... man up. This reminds me a lot of the guy in Failure to Launch except for the fact that he was proud that his mom still did his laundry and was his alarm clock. Note to men: this is not attractive; however, if a girl likes you enough she might be able to deal with it. But what's more unattractive? Lying about it. Although I think it's weird that this lady had to do some Blue's Clues work, his situation was even weirder. Needless to say, they're no longer speaking. I hope she finds someone with a little more chest hair next time.

This ties into the whole Cougar-Cub thing. Sort of. When did the tables turn and women turned into the Sugar Daddies? I guess women are gaining power... thank you Rosa, Lady Bird, Cher, Oprah and Condolezza... I could launch into my whole theory on the internal submissive male sub-psyche, but that's for another day. :) I'll be honest, it does gross me out a little to see a coug out with her mancub. Call me what you will (a hippie maybe?), but I have no interest in plasticizing myself in order to score some cub-toosh in 25 years. Don't get me wrong, the thought of gravity taking its toll scares me to death, but that's life, right? Besides, I'd rather have crow's feet from smiling for 60 years and saggyboobies than look like the botox nightmares wandering around this country. I'm exiting my soap-boxy arena... now.