Chuck Woolery, eat your heart out.
Posted by Miah Sat, 24 Nov 2007 07:44:00 GMT
Written on September 26, 2007
Do women have biological clocks? I’ve heard people talk about them ticking, but I’ve never heard it myself. My inner cynic really wants this to exist. It would simplify the late 20s dating world enormously. You’d be out somewhere, hear a loud TICK and then a split second later an ear shattering TOCK as you are driven to the ground by a woman with a professional hair-do and a small stylish bag under one arm. She’s not hunting for Mr. Right. Oh no, she’s stalking Mr. Right-fucking-now. TICK. TOCK.
She must have gotten up one morning and poured some funky smelling milk all over her Wheaties. This is the first seal of the apocalypse, the time of biological reckoning is nigh! Apparently there is a shelf life on eggs, you are born with them, and then at some point they all fail simultaneously. This happens much later for men. Testicular faculty goes on and on, well into a mans 50s. Spermatozoa aren’t exactly a fine, single-malted, 18 year old scotch at that age. But, there isn’t some mythical end buzzer on male fertility.
For guys there isn’t anything so convenient as a biological clock to blame. There is just the not-so-subtle realization that the chick with the hot ass you just burned the clothes off of with your eyes as she walked across the room was born in the same year that you graduated high school.
“Remember the band that sang that song we just heard?”
“Oh yeah, they were in my history text book, in the section on the 80s.”, she giggled.
This is when you grab your walker and go home to soak your feet before your 8 PM bedtime. Do not pass go, do not collect $200, proceed directly to feeling like a Benny Hill skit in super slow motion.
Dating when you are 19 is like falling off of a log. Nobody has baggage yet, and if they do it just leads to “super hot, she’s got daddy issues sex”. Once you find yourself staring down the big three-oh the game changes. It’s not longer flirting, followed by polite sexual tension ending in fogging up the windows for an hour when you drop her off at her place. Not anymore, now it’s like a job interview for the position of Subservient Penis Caddy™.
I can see the ad now:
NOW HIRING EEO Must be able to lift 100 lbs of baggage. Seeking attractive candidates, submit references and 401k statements. No phone calls!
At 30 everybody is a burnt out jaded husk of declining expectations and a sense of urgency in the matter nearing escape velocity. Nothing is fueled by the hormones that enable you to overlook aberrant personality flaws long enough to establish a valid reason to have a relationship in the first place.
