The Pied Piper
If they were rewriting the story of the Pied Piper to feature a young woman who has an uncanny ability to make old men follow her wherever she goes, I would definitely be a good candidate for the star. Don't get me wrong, it's flattering to be told 25 times a day that "you are the most beautiful girl in the whole place," or to be called "a pretty little devil" by one of the more feisty members of the 5th floor's population, but it is comparatively less flattering when you realize that practically any man who has even looked at you over the past several years has been of old enough to receive a free subscription to Octogenarians Quarterly. The situation is really getting a little bit out of control. Let me just explain a bit so you may grasp the true gravity of the situation....
On nearly a daily basis, numerous members of the geriatric population ask me to kiss them, try to kiss me, ask me to climb in their beds, slap my rear end, ask me to marry them ("I have $1600 dollars in the bank, I'll buy a new suit!"), stare deeply into my eyes and tell me they love me, and beg me to say that I still love them. Their flirting tactics vary...some are kind of bumbling ("Gosh honey, but your hair sure looks neat!"), while others are quite direct ("I wish you would climb in bed with me!") It is not uncommon for me to open my office door to find a line-up of glassy-eyed looking men who, despite the fact that they cannot remember where their own room is, somehow seem to know that I was previously holed up inside. I find all of them extremely endearing, but once in a while I just wish someone who was even remotely near my age bracket would cast an occasional glance in my direction.
Sometimes I wonder if I was born in the wrong generation. Perhaps the soul of any man who has a chance of ever loving me is unfortunately trapped inside an 86-year-old's body. Or could it be that my elderly admirers are losing their eyesight to the point where I look fabulous to them, or at least better than the women their age? Who can say, really? All I know is that I'm getting a little lonely in my starring role as the Pied Piperess...
On nearly a daily basis, numerous members of the geriatric population ask me to kiss them, try to kiss me, ask me to climb in their beds, slap my rear end, ask me to marry them ("I have $1600 dollars in the bank, I'll buy a new suit!"), stare deeply into my eyes and tell me they love me, and beg me to say that I still love them. Their flirting tactics vary...some are kind of bumbling ("Gosh honey, but your hair sure looks neat!"), while others are quite direct ("I wish you would climb in bed with me!") It is not uncommon for me to open my office door to find a line-up of glassy-eyed looking men who, despite the fact that they cannot remember where their own room is, somehow seem to know that I was previously holed up inside. I find all of them extremely endearing, but once in a while I just wish someone who was even remotely near my age bracket would cast an occasional glance in my direction.
Sometimes I wonder if I was born in the wrong generation. Perhaps the soul of any man who has a chance of ever loving me is unfortunately trapped inside an 86-year-old's body. Or could it be that my elderly admirers are losing their eyesight to the point where I look fabulous to them, or at least better than the women their age? Who can say, really? All I know is that I'm getting a little lonely in my starring role as the Pied Piperess...
posted by Erinn @ 5:04 PM
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