My friends managed to score a seat and a bit of standing room at the back bar for Sunday’s football games; we were close to the TVs and breathing down the bartender’s neck – pretty much exactly where you want to be. There was a group of men to the left of us. They easily had a decade on my parents. One offered me his seat but I politely declined. I was taught to respect my elders and it’s just like the NYC MTA says, priority seating should go to the elderly. About 30 minutes later, realizing that no one from the cast of Cocoon was going to use the seat, I staked my claim on it. The gentleman sitting next to me made small talk during the first half of the first game and by the third quarter, he was convinced that I was perfect for his son. Technically I was perfect for either one. He has two.
While the angel on my right shoulder whispered “This is going nowhere fast”, the devil on my left shouted “This could be a great blog post!”
The devil won.
Conversation during the fourth quarter went back and forth between the actual game and his sons – aka, the future love(s) of my life. He seemed excited that I was pretty much his future daughter-in-law but then he said the words that sealed my fate: “Oh, I have a picture of my boys!” Great, visuals! As he handed me his blackberry, there was really only one thing to say. So I said it:
“Umm, how old do you think I am?”
There was no way his sons were a day out of college. If they were technically old enough to have even started college yet. He eventually coughed up their ages: 18 and 23. (So when you said he played lacrosse at LaSalle you actually meant he plays lacrosse at LaSalle? As in, he has a game next weekend?)
While it was apparent that the love connection between me and the newly identified jail bait wasn’t meant to be, I figured that my former future father-in-law was kind of funny and he liked talking football so I at least had a friendly neighbor for the second game. Not what happened. At all. Deciding that I was clearly too old for his sons, my new “buddy” spent the rest of the night hitting on me. (For the record, I was being nice when I said he had a decade on my parents; I think he was probably closer to my grandparents’ age.) Now I like older men, and entertaining blog posts, but I have my limits. I tried to keep the conversation focused on the game because, let’s face it, I wasn’t going to play cute now that his sons were clearly off the table. I knew it was time to strategize a way out when I heard him say, “If I were 20 years younger!” I was tempted to make a comment that “People actually say that in real life?!” but the entire encounter got even more awkward when I realized he was wearing a wedding ring. With impeccable timing, one of the girls offered to switch seats with me. Thank god for selfless friends!
Now, I don’t suppose there’s an age-appropriate uncle that someone can introduce me to…?
Unwedded Bliss 
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