Sometimes I wish I were still 22. That way I could get with a cute 23-year-old without a second thought. The cutie in question was none other than Mr. Alcohol. After planting a smackeroo on his lips at LQs, he continued to dazzle me with his smile and good looks. It was his birthday celebration and that's how I found out that he had just turned a tender 23.
"How old are you?" He asked. I looked up at him and hesitated. Should I divulge my actual age or lie?
I went the honest route. "I'm 31," I answered proudly.
"Wow. You're a woman," he exclaimed, seemingly impressed. "Let's dance."
He grabbed my hand and led me to the dance floor where we proceeded to dance a mean merengue. He with the exuberance of a 20 something, and I with the experience of a 30 something. In the middle of a turn, I reached up and kissed him again, I couldn't help myself. He smiled and asked me for my number.
As I dictated my digits, I realized that being 31 was a blessing. Whether he called me or not, I wouldn't stress it simply because I am 31. If I were in my early 20s, on the other hand, I'd go nuts! That's the beauty of being more experienced. You can have fun and take it all in stride...and that's exactly what I plan to do.