Stella Payne: So how old are you anyway, young man?
Winston Shakespeare: Well, I'll be 21 on my next birthday so I guess that makes me 20. And how old are you, young lady?
Stella Payne: 40.
Winston Shakespeare: No, truthfully.
Stella Payne. A cougar before her time? A modern day Mrs. Robinson? She's been on my mind lately.
If you would have told me two months ago that I'd be in the funk I am in now...I'd laugh at you. Jen Marr with no libido?! Have the Cubs won the World Series? Oh. Not yet, but with handsome what's his name at the helm, they're bound to. Maybe my drive will come back too.
Theo. Work on that for me.
I'm pretty sure it's all chemical. I mean, a horn dog is a horn dog is a horn dog, right? (sorry for the imagery...I had this kick ass LIT today with grape vodka and tequila. Can't remember the name. Purple-something.) Or maybe...I've been taken over by aliens in the middle of the night and the person that's writing this is actually a human shell covering a mass of toxic green goo.
Lends credibility to the weird shape I am now.
(off shoot - THE Ohio State University bugs me. How much are those NFL players making extra by kicking in the THE????!!)
So what does this have to do with Stella? I'm painfully certain that if Winston Shakespeare hit on me right now, I'd ignore him. (I KNOW! Sign me up for therapy!) What the HELL does a younger guy want with me...a middle aged viola/pokemon/PS2 mom?
Funny thing is...there seems to be an answer to that. Duh duh DUHHHHH.
A few years back, I had a brief thing with a younger guy. To this day, we are friends and he is CONSTANTLY complimenting me and my physique. (to which, I of course say, 'What the HELL is your problem!! You could be banging hot young thin chicks!') Ahem. (I'm sure he is!!)
SO. I'd continue this conversation but I have to go take selfies in the bathroom and upload them to Tinder.
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