Putting off those Mom Vibes
I had a fling with a 27 year old
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9pm on a March pacific north west sunday and my phone, which rarely rings these days let me tell you that straight, rings and I jump at the bright sound of the thing. And it’s A. A. who I rarely know, friend of a friend of a friend, and yet these times are strange, so not too strange for her to be ringing me, out of the post dinner sunday blues and the melting down into toddler bed time. “Want to go see a drag show with me?” She’s grinning and I’m grinning and my husband is in the background nodding his head; he knows how much we need this differentiation and me putting on a dress I think looks cute- this cheap lime green slinky collared button up throwback 90s cos everyone is doing it BUT I REALLY LIVED IT… and some thick black tights and some massive dangly earrings with hunks of faux amber suspended here and there.
after the drag show we go to a dive bar and dwight schrute stares down on us grimly which i love don’t you? and folks who are not me are getting drunk, i’m nursing my stella and missing the days i could drink and smoke indoors simultaneously but I’ve got a 30 minute drive home and man it’s loud as fuck in here and i have 1 of 3 songs i like to sing at karoke, and i am waiting patiently as can be for my turn to get up and sing nirvana in my lime green 90s dress b/c yes the dress and song have got to fit, and A gets drunker and flutters her wings about until she is enfolded by a good looking couple, the man of which looks at me approvingly tells me to turn around so he can size me up/ calls me “thick” and then just beyond them is a curly hairy country looking young man in a trucker hat and the next thing i know he is buying me a drink which is Sprite, which the barhand gladly dumps the last of maraschino cherries into it like i asked cos it’s closing time and A was cut off a while ago and I am thinking what the hell do i do /do i do anything she’s a grown woman, and was i flirting with this man Hunter? Like later he tells me I was but unless I am saying directly to you with a big old grin “do you want to fuck” like i did that night years ago with the phd d in organic chemistry who still very occasionally messaes me on FB messenger, then I am proably being friendly but then flirting is friendly ain’t and not all flirting leads to fucking but when it does it sure is nice.. but i may or may not have told this young man with is curls tucked under his hat and his clunky silver cross necklace standing out like a sore thumb or a red flag in this very liberal college town, that he’d stand to find himself a married non-monogamous woman, given that his work of late night pipe dwelling for 12 hours at a stretch a few months at a time and “believe me when I' say I’ve seen it all” he says, so settling down, finding love or even regular sex are had to find… so yes I may or may not have been talking about myself. So then I guess I should not have been too suprised that when he walked me out it just happened in the way of magical aligntments that I still like to believe in that his car is parked directly next to mine, and then he says "I’ve been eyeing you all night, how about a kiss good night.” I oblige and then days later he is texting me "when can i see you?” "i cannot wait to see you” and "i feel safe around you” to which i say "you sure it ain’t the mom vibes i’m giving off?” / "oh those mom vibes are sexy as fuck” and lord do i know i’m in trouble…
The next Sunday is March 19th/it is my last day of being 40. Oh my god I am in my 40s now and you know what they do to women as they age in this country? And in the past I have always gone for men 9, 12, 15, 19, and once even 24 years older than me… so this man, 13 years younger is something fresh wild fun completely unknown to me in an era where aging as a woman connotes a certain veil of invisibility- a grief and a blessing to me as the silver streaks my hair more and more and more. I am in town with friends doing family friendly things and we are having fun- 2 teens, 3 parents and the toddlers, and then this young man from michigan he texts me to ask what i’m wearing for our date that night. He shows up in alligator boots, his thick silver cross, same trucker hat, and an western button up shirt, but man I am a woman of my word, and here i am, as soon enough he tells me he feared I wouldn’t show up b/c apparently that is how the 20s and the 30s somethings do it these days, like ghosting has become so common it’s now considered par for the course, and maybe it matters that a child of the 80s and 90s likes me remembers when I had to make plans ahead of time over a landline phone and actually show up said time and place for friends. so no not me i did not ghost him on this luscious cool evening of the last night of my 40th year in my highwaist black jeans over my stacked 70s caramel leather boots I bought for $20 at the barter faire over in the okagnogan desert, my dainty silk shirt with black trim and a little suggestive tie at the neck, topped off by a 1960s era faux fur animal print coat.
and that’s how it began
