As I passed that giant turd blockage of a deal, I stated many times on this blog that Penny Poopy Pants, the barista at the coffee shop, or Marcy Fudge Pie, the waitress at the diner, would not have a very easy time of it if they wanted to tie me up in knots. And so it has come to pass.
See, I've thought a lot about this. Recently, I had this brilliant thought: people say, it's not about finding the right person, it's about being the right person. Right? So it follows thusly: a fifty-three year old man who goes around trying to get with twenty-two year old baristas and waitresses and whom all else might not be the right person. I'm just sayin'. I figure women in their thirties might be fair game, I guess, but enough with the twenty-two year olds already.