Sugar Daddy's Need Not Apply

While sipping some prosecco at a local lounge over the weekend, my gal pal and I were subject to some surprising male advances. Not surprising as in ‘oh my, that boy who resembles Jake Gyllenhaal wants my number’, but surprising as in ‘oh my, you’re old enough to be my granddad’. There are some anxious geriatric gents on the loose in this town ladies and they’re hittin’ the Vancouver scene - hard.

Although my friend and I are both involved with boys of our own, that’s not to say we’re not open to some friendly banter with boys at the bar now and then. However, when the “boy” in question is that of a 70 plus pensioner from North Carolina, it begs the question - what on earth makes these men think they stand a chance?

At what point do men acquire the manjigglys to approach gals roughly 40 years their junior thinking they may have a shot? Two words - dolla bills. These said old boys will often cruise for younger ladies under the assumption that their money will win us over. Here’s my point possums - not all women are money hungry. Most women these days earn they’re own income and need not resort to a roll in the hay with a Hugh Hefner type to taste the good life.

So there we are, enjoying our cocktails and tapas, when I see our subject about to make his approach. A somewhat solid swagger, I’ll admit. However, he makes it immediately clear that he has some serious cash, as he lists the various properties he owns around town, even inviting my friend to take a ride on his float plane. Meanwhile I’m thinking to myself, ‘you’re barking up the wrong tree Daddy Warbucks’.

To top it off, this man was simply oozing with style...if it were 1975. Sort of a Tom Jones meets Mr. Kotter facade. So naturally I let him have it. Yes, possums, in my very best southern drawl (to speak at his level ofcourse), I inform our old chap that my friend will not be taking a ride on his float plane and perhaps he should approach someone more age appropriate. He did not take kindly to my comments nor did he enjoy my impression of his Ross Perot-esque accent. Hmph, tough crowd.

After making a swift and somewhat awkward exit (avoiding Mr. Jones at all cost) I continued on my rant for a few blocks, educating innocent bystanders along the way - pervy middle aged ballers should simply behave or buggar off.