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Goldilocks And The Three Ages Of Man

Goldilocks and the three bearsIn relationships, past and present, I have often felt like that little girl Goldilocks who enters the three bears’ house and has to sample certain things until she finds the one that’s ‘juuuuuuust right’. Although in my opinion she was far too easily pleased. Porridge? Come on! She should’ve been looking for Coco Pops at least.  And in relationships, it’s not always just the comfy bed that’s not too soft, and not too hard that you’re looking for – it’s about who’s in it as well; including who isn’t, because when you start feeling like just another notch, it’s time to take your sorry ass home and find a different brand of porridge, so to speak.

 

I’ve been out with the older chap, the younger gentleman and now I’m with the guy who’s the same age as me and here is what I’ve learnt about getting the concoction just right.

 

Too young and it’s hard not to feel a little bit like Mrs. Robinson, but without the sexual allure and expensive clothes. I was only a couple of years older than said-ex, but I didn’t like being made to feel a dozen more. Even his own mother treated me like some evil temptress trying to wayward her son into a life of sex, drugs and rock and roll. The fact that I’d get ID’d twice as much as him did not seem to deter her from thinking I was out to destroy his innocence. As a result I became reluctant to treat him like a boyfriend at all; for fear the feds would step in and arrest me for indecent behaviour towards a minor. He wasn’t of course – we were both studying at the same university and he didn’t even have a baby face. Unfortunately, due to my adamant refusal to accept the ‘cradle-snatcher’ title that friends and family alike had so kindly attached to me, our relationship became more friendly than saucy and five months later he finished it. Ahhh she said, this bed won’t do for it’s far too hard, possibly unused…oh and he no longer wants me in it. Onto the next then….

 

Too old and it’s difficult not to get a little infatuated. He was seven years older than me and I was just nineteen, although I initially lied about my age to seduce him into my web/ bed of entrapment. He was also an Australian – so there you go, older and a southern-hemisphere hunk; what normal nineteen year-old English girl wouldn’t fall head over heels for such a specimen? Trouble is, they don’t fall in love (or anything remotely linked to love) with you. They have the dreaded baggage, and the memories of wonderful ex- girlfriends that they cling to like magnets to a fridge, and jobs that they detest because they’re no longer young and carefree, and the feared 3-0 is knocking on the door, and hair is falling out, beer guts are peeking from under what was once a well-toned torso, and friends are having a pre-middle-life crisis as well as two-day hangovers that never would’ve happened five years earlier – and all you are is one last desperate attempt to reclaim teenage-hood and forget the beautiful, long-gone ex. These are not the type of men who fall in unconditional love with young and impressionable nineteen-year olds who lie about their age and can see no further along the line of life than gap years and lots of drinking at university. Nope, older at certain times of life is definitely not better. So in this little tale of woe she realised it wasn’t the bed that was too soft, but herself, so she returned home and grew up. He started his own business and produced beautiful babies with the woman who always had a hold over his heart……Or he might of, I’m not sure – his Facebook page is absolutely useless at divulging information.

 

The guy of the same or similar age is a tricky one; he’s certainly not perfect because he’ll always seem like a Neanderthal compared to the ever-evolving woman; the facts speak for themselves (if you believe the tabloids) and women will always be the more mature of the human species. Yes I think that’s a load of old tosh too, but men do seem to have their moments of incredulous immaturity. If the pair of you are sixteen, he’ll still be at the stage where he treats his mother with absolute contempt if she doesn’t serve him his favourite turkey dinosaurs for tea; at twenty he’ll be so busy convincing himself that he is now a man and buying ridiculously expensive business clothes and the Financial Times to prove his manly-worth, he’ll be completely oblivious that you have flourished from adolescence into womanhood yourself. While at twenty-six, things will start to balance out and they may even stop ringing their mother to ask how the washing machine works and start to realise that five portions of fruit and veg a day is actually a rather good idea. And they will even tell you this, as you bite into the fifth of your five a day, which you’ve been doing every day since you were fourteen anyway. And then there are the things that they will never grow out of. They will always fart and giggle afterwards, constantly fiddle with their genitals as though they’re amazed to have found something down there, leave the toilet seat up, finish the toilet roll and leave it’s inner cardboard shell on the floor, eat a ten-pack of crisps in bed while playing video games and leave crumbs all over the duvet, make obvious and constant innuendos 24-hours a day, shout stupidly childish things out in their sleep and frown at you with disapproval every time you don’t make a ham sandwich like mummy would. I presume these habits continue to old age but I’ll have to let you know if and when I get there with a wrinkly old chap on my arm. To be fair though, it’s brilliant isn’t it? Perhaps the reason us girls  ‘tolerate’ it so much is because we wish we could do some of these things more often ourselves? Minus the constant genital touching of course. And a lot of the time you can, because you’re both of the same age and will grow out of it together.

 

So these are just some of the mixtures I’ve sampled so far; I just need to try a Sugar Daddy or dabble in barely-legal and then I’ll have cross-referenced the lot. But for now I’m happy with the one I’ve got. And so she stopped at the third bed and she loved it so much, she decided to never get out. It wasn’t too hard and it wasn’t too soft and all the crumbs scattered across the never-washed sheets felt just right.

 

Image courtesy of terrystarbucker.com


1 Comment

  1. Great Blog! The facebook line made me snort cake out my face! Very funny!

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