This story is from my first-ever blog back in 2009, My 20-Something Life (original name, huh?). Laugh at these true stories. Meet Uncle Boo.
Good ol’ Uncle Boo. We all know him. No, he’s not on that shaky branch of your family tree (and if he is, shame on your family for such a ridiculous name!). Uncle Boo is a guy, a man, rather, who is old enough to be your uncle, but is trying to court you so he’ll be your man, your “boo.” More commonly referred to as “May-December” relationships, I like to call them “B.C. – A.D.” anomalies.
I just don’t get them! What does an old-ass man want with a young chick? (Besides that, of course.) Okay, I completely understand that when a man has been married to the same woman for “x” amount of years, he wants something new, something fresh. This is what I picture a typical marriage to be: “Good night, dear.” Roll over. Fall asleep. Wake up. Roll over. “Good morning, dear.” Lather, rinse, repeat. For fifteen years.
I never really gave it much thought until I got hit on by an O.G. one night after the club. I was at a late night eating spot with two of my best friends on Thanksgiving Eve, and I was at the counter getting some wings (my fave). Then I heard it.
“Mmm… look at this girl right here!” some guy said. “She looks good.”
What? I know he’s not talking about me, I thought. I kind of look over my shoulder to see if I can make eye contact with my friends so they’ll rescue me.
“Yeah,” he said. “I’m talking about you.”
Dammit! When I look up to see who’s talking, I see this guy who reminds me of one of my uncles – right down the gray hair. Yuck!
“What’s your name?” old guy asked.
“You don’t need to know that,” I replied.
“And why is that?”
“Cuz you’re, like, fifty-two years old. That’s why.”
“This girl thinks I’m fifty-two. Can you believe that?” He grabs his slice of pizza and leaves the counter. I think,Great, old guy left. Now I can eat in peace. But when I grab my wings and go to sit down, old guy is sitting diagonally across from my booth! So I walk on by him and sit down next to my friend.
So old guy believes this is the perfect opportunity to pull up a chair and sit at the end of my booth. And he has his equally obnoxious old guy friend from England in tow.
“So what’s your name?”
“Jailbait,” I said.
“That’s funny. You’re funny.”
“Ari, who is this guy?” my friend, S., asked.
“I don’t know. Some old guy,” I said.
“Hey, why does your friend think I’m old?” He asked. “She thinks I’m fifty-two. Do I look fifty-two?”
“You look pretty good for a fifty-two-year old,” said S.
“Why do you think I’m so old?” He asked me.
“Well, you know if you cut down a tree, you can count the rings to determine its age? I think if I were to count the gray hairs in your goatee, I would get fifty-two.”
Old guy and old guy with an accent laugh. “Your friend is funny. But I’m really forty-nine.”
“Big whoop,” I said. Meanwhile, Mr. London is trying to talk to S. while my other friend, M., is looking at the wall since she doesn’t want to get involved with this. And I don’t blame her. She was lucky there wasn’t a third one.
“Well, how old are you?”
“Nineteen.” A complete lie.
“We can pretend you’re twenty-six,” he said.
What?! He can’t be serious, I thought. If he wanted me to pretend I’m seven years older than I said I was, then imagine what he said to girls who were 15 or 16. Complete clown.
“You know, you look real familiar,” I told him.
Oh, he was all smiles now. “I look familiar to you?” he asked.
“Yeah. Did I see you on Dateline’s To Catch a Predator?”
My friends started crackin’ up. “Ari, you ain’t shit,” S. laughed. “Why you messin’ with him? He seems like a nice, older gentleman.” And as she’s saying this, Mr. Gentleman is whispering in my ear, “I have a cheerleading outfit you can fit into.”
“Omigod, let’s eat up,” I said. “We have got to go.” I was absolutely repulsed. Is this how old guys really act? And why isn’t he at home? Isn’t it past his bedtime? Is this how he got his wife? Did someone actually marry this cretin??
The only thing I think is worse than these Uncle Boos that will cheat on their wives with a tenderoni are the wives that will alter themselves in some way to keep these men.
I was watching the last hour of The Today Show the other day. You know, the hour with Kathie Lee Gifford and Hoda Kotbe? They do these “ambush makeovers” where they grab the frumpiest, dumpiest, unsuspecting mom (and they always have those horrendous “mom” jeans on too. We have Spanx now, women! Cover that pooch up!) Anyway, I was watching the part where they were revealing the “new and improved” mothers to their daughters. Let me tell you, The Today show did a bang-up job. These moms looked great! They had dresses on with their gams showing and waists cinched, I thought, You go, girls. Work it. I love watching makeovers because they boost a woman’s confidence.
But these women didn’t want to make themselves feel better. They wanted to look good for their husbands! One actually said,” I’m turning fifty soon, and I want to look like I’m twenty-one again.” I’m not even gonna lie, I almost turned off my TV. She had a better chance of turning twenty-one again than looking twenty-one. I mean, come on, let’s be realistic.
These Uncle Boos have nothing to offer me. Clearly, they have no conversational skills or personality. Maybe if he said something of substance I would reconsider.
But who am I kidding? I’m no one’s Catherine Zeta-Jones.
And I have enough uncles.
awkwardly ariel. 