I covered a nightclub event last night for work, which was sort of an energy stretch. (See doctor, get blood test, have early dinner to avoid the nightime “morning” sickness, go ROCK THE CLUBS. Sober.)
Anyways I discovered I am officially extremely boring. (Not that it was about me.)
I had fun going around interviewing people and because it was a *cough* specialized event most of the music was precisely out of my era or a little older, so I even enjoyed it and I danced some because no one can interview people for 5 hours straight in a nightclub and not end up on the floor at some point. (That’s my excuse and I’m sticking to it.) I learned that I have actually gotten pushy enough to walk up to people and interview them. It helped that media outnumbered guests for the first two hours, because my competitive streak propelled me to do what everyone else is doing. Or rather my boring fit-in streak.
But I discovered I’ve become really boring. Part of my interviews were with hot young guys (< 30) and some of them devolved into “true confessions of young guys” and a few asked me questions like how did I meet my husband and what do I like to do normally, if I cannot be met on the dance floor at a club. On the Internet and generally I can be found at home writing, messing around on the Internet, cooking, or sleeping.
I also discovered that although theoretically I find 28-year-old buff guys (and there were plenty) hot, whether it’s the hormones or some sea change in my personality, when any of them hit on me (and a good dozen did which was disconcerting, although given the nature of the event and the dearth of non-press women at it somewhat understandable; also, I need a hat with a “press” card in it) my first reaction was not: mnnn but OH MY GOD SPARE MY SON THIS HUMILIATION 22 YEARS INTO THE FUTURE. May he find a lovely girl his own age and not be at specialized events named for predatorial large cats seeking out the attentions of older women.
Not that it was really humiliating I guess. But seriously, I have a first trimester pooch, I was dressed sort of intentionally to ward off advances with granny shoes on, and I’m an old married woman.
I suppose I grew up in a still sexist enough society, or perhaps it was my own geeky dating adventures, but I pretty much have in my mind that the guys are more in control of their dating lives. But after last night, what I feel I learned is that there are a lot of lonely guys out there – with nothing initially/visibly wrong with them: nicely dressed, nice bods, jobs and degrees. And they are brave enough to go out of their comfort zone for a lark on a Friday night to suck up to older women.
So what the hell, young women of Toronto?
