A Little Long in the Tooth

Have you ever heard the expression, “Long in the Tooth?” I hadn’t until this week. Let me tell you about it:
But first, let me share a picture (Circa 1989) that makes my heart smile:

photo 1

I went to a local restaurant the other day. I was waiting on the bar tender and I started chatting with some older townies to pass the time. Here’s the convo after literally three minutes:

Old Townie: “…how old are you? I’ve got a 25 year-old son and I bet he’d love you.”

Me: “I’m 27,” I smiled and replied, confidently.

….*crickets*….

Old, rude Townie: “Oh…well, I think you’re a little long in the tooth for my son.”

Me: I didn’t get it. “I’m what? I have big teeth?”

Old, rude Townie: “No. Just long in the tooth.”

Me: I looked to his buddies for some help. One of them replied, “I think that means you’re too old.”

I’ll let you use your imagination and guess what my reaction was. Choose:

a) Oh really? I missed the cut? Dang itttttt. What if I get botox? What if I can guarantee to act like a 19 year-old? I’ll wear my Uggs with Nike shorts. Anything–I’ll do anything. PLEEEEASSEEEE.

b) ARE YOU SERIOUS?!? OH, SO TWO YEARS IS THE BREAKING POINT FOR COMPATIBILITY? 27 IS NOT OLD–YOU OLD, WRINKLED GEEZER. YOU SUCK *turn to his buddies* AND YOU ALL SUCK. **throw beer in his face, smash the glass on the floor, and walk out of the bar in triumph with my hands over-head and everyone clapping**

c) Oh. Ok. Well, it was nice chatting with you. Thanks for the insult and goodnight, boys.

Ok, the right answer was “c.” I got really flustered and just walked away.

Side note: Horse’s teeth grow with age so folks can make a rough estimate on how old one is by looking at their teeth–hence the phrase “Long in the Tooth.” Whatever. I hate horses.

Now, was I actually interested in this man’s son before he made the “too old” comment? Absolutely not. I’m not big on meeting men in bars (or calling their sons). But my pride was hurt. He cut me deep. Real deep.

I work with college students every day and I’m always joking about how old I am–but I don’t really feel that old. 27 is still young right? You’re only as old as you feel, right?

And I guess I’ve never really thought about age when dating someone. I’ve always been told there is the “Half-Plus-Seven-Rule.” You take your age, divide it by half and then add seven years and that’s the minimal acceptable age you can date. So 27..divided by two…plus 7…equals..20.5. Yeesh. Let’s round up to 21. Er, let’s round up more to 23? Whatever. Let’s not talk about it anymore. I’m over it.

When did dating get so complicated?

Here’s a picture of me as a kiddo to make me remember the good ol’ days: When age was a single-digit and the only man you cared about impressing was yer pop.

photo 2

60 minutes with Elaine

I traveled to San Antonio last week for work. On my flight back to reality, I met a wonderful woman named Elaine. Actually, I slept for the first two hours of the flight and met Elaine when I woke up.

Elaine: “Is Chicago your final destination?” She asked as she removed one of those sweet neck pillows from around her throat–I really want one of those things.

Me: “No ma’am. I’m headed to Richmond.”

Elaine: “You aren’t from Richmond,” she stated a matter-of-factly.

Me: “…that’s true. I’m originally from East Texas.”

Elaine: “Oh honey, you didn’t have to tell me that. Your accent gave it away.”

Elaine is a beautiful, Latina woman in her early-thirties. She is from El Paso but has lived in San Antonio for about four years. She works for a health insurance company and develops marketing for proactive, healthy lifestyles. Randomly, we were on the subject of bad jobs.

Elaine: “Oh honey, I worked as a physical therapist for an insurance company years ago. All the doctors encouraged me to teach patients how to do exercises incorrectly. They didn’t care about people. The less-healthy their patients are, the more money they make.”

Me: “That’s unbelievable. Well, I guess it’s kind of believable–just sad.”

Elaine: “Yes. I had to get out of that situation quick.”

We continued to chat about work and different jobs. In the middle of chatting about my future plans, Elaine asked me a very important question:

Elaine: “Meg, are you a spiritual person at all?”

Me: “Absolutely.”

Elaine: “Want to make God laugh? Tell Him your plans,” she stated with a huge grin.

Wow. Elaine could not have said anything more true. I work so hard to plan every single moment of my life. EVERY. SINGLE. MOMENT. And I get so bent out of shape if something doesn’t go to my plan. I only include God after I’ve made my plan. I’m a mess.

Elaine: “So, you will stay in Virginia for a while? You have a husband?”

Me: Why does everyone have to talk about dating? “No and I’m not sure how long I’ll be in Virginia. I’m missing Texas every day. Do you have a family?”

Elaine: Her face lit up. “I’ve been dating my boyfriend for eight months. He is from El Paso and I actually dated him ten years ago. We lost connection after a few months–it just wasn’t working. Fast forward ten years and I’m in church. I was praying with my eyes closed and all of a sudden I felt this presence over me. I looked up and there he was. I hadn’t seen him in ten years! We both had no idea each of us was in San Antonio! It was crazy, Meg. But now we are together.”

Isn’t that story crazy?

Elaine and I had a great time chatting. She made me think about a lot. I honestly wish I had her number to ask her more questions. Cheers, Elaine and have a great time in Kentucky.

The 3Gs

I traveled to FedEx Field in Hyattsville, Maryland this weekend to watch the Hokies take on Cinncinnati.  The game was awful…but the tailgating and reuniting with friends was amazing.

I ran into a buddy’s mom (a woman who I absolutely adore) at one tailgate.  We hadn’t seen each other since last football season so we had some catching up to do.  After chatting for a while, our conversation took a very unexpected turn:

Me: “…and I’m just loving Fredericksburg.”

Friend’s Mom: “Well that’s great!  So…do you have a significant other?”

Me: *Blank deer-in-the-headlights-stare* “Uhh…well, no ma’am.”

Friend’s Mom: “Ohh…so what’s your type?”

Now, I love this question because I have my go-to response that many of you already know.

Me: “Well, I don’t really have a type, I guess.  But I do have ‘The 3Gs.’”

Friend’s Mom: “The what?”

Me: “The 3Gs.  It’s the three the things that I look for in man: Goals, Gentleman, and Jesus…and I know Jesus doesn’t start with a ‘g’ but the ‘j’ sounds like ‘g’ so it works.  My man needs: Goals (something he’s striving for), to be a Gentleman (opening doors, polite to others–the whole shebang <— it makes my heart flutter), and know Jesus (to love the Lord with all of his heart).”

Friend’s Mom: “Oh my! The 3Gs! I love it! And which ‘G’ is most important?  Do you rank them?”

Me: “They’re all important, but I guess the most important is Jesus.  I need a man that loves Jesus before anything else.”

Friend’s Mom: “…I love it.  The 3Gs.  But you know, to stay current, you should probably get 4G.”

I never thought I’d have this conversation with my buddy’s mom, but it got me thinking about my 3Gs.  I’ve dated plenty of men who have the 3Gs but it doesn’t end up working out–Something just doesn’t click.  And I have surrounded myself with guy friends who have the 3Gs but I have no desire to date them.  There must be something missing!

My friend’s mom is right–What’s missing is a 4th G.  There is a magical something that sets a part men I am attracted to from men I am friends with.  But what is this 4th G?

Gladiator-like?

Glitter?

Gallant?

Gorgeous?

Gassy?

I am in absolutely no hurry to find the 4th G, but suggestions are welcome.  Until then, I’m perfectly content with loving life and surrounding myself with the 3Gs.