Sometimes I wish I were still 22 years old. That way I could get with a cutie patuti 23-year-old without a second thought.
The cutie patuti 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, good looks and strong drinks. Mr. Alcohol was celebrating his birthday that night. On cue, I asked how old he was and that’s when he dropped the bomba. He had just turned a young 23.
“How old are you?” He asked. I looked up at him and hesitated. Should I divulge my age or pretend I was a hot tamale 24-year-old?
“I’m 31,” I answered somewhat proudly.
“Wow. You’re a woman,” he exclaimed, impressed. “Let’s dance,” he finished.
Mr. Alcohol took my hand and led me to the dance floor where he danced merengue with the exuberance of a 23 year old and I with the experience of a 31 year old. In the middle of a turn, I reached up and kissed him on the lips yet again. 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 in your 30s. You could get with a cutie patuti 23 year old and take it all by stride. And that’s exactly what I planned do it.