I Am The Bea Arthur of Our Generation

Tonight, as I was coming home from work, this sweet old man who lives in my building (I call him Boomhower in my head because he’s from the south and he talks EXACTLY like that character from King of the Hill), told me that I get prettier and prettier every day. At least, that’s what I THINK he said. He talks really fast for a man who drawls his words together. I thanked him for his flattery, so I hope that he at least said something to which “thank you” is an appropriate response.

Anyway, his comment got me to thinking – a lot of older men seem to find me attractive. Men my own age don’t think that I am much to look at, but I get a lot of compliments from older gentlemen (I’m talking like, men old enough to collect a Canada pension).  Granted, I do tend to attract a lot of sketchbags and perverts, so maybe it’s only dirty old men who find me attractive, BUT. . . I have a theory!

Males my own age see my strong draw, bum chin, dark hair, thick eyebrows, and ample curves and think that I am obviously a fat ape woman or transvestite. Men (and some women) who grew up before the 1950s on the other hand, I think, look at me and are reminded of a time when Katherine Hepburn was the epitome of beauty and attractive ladies were more “handsome” than they were dainty.  Not that I am comparing myself to Hepburn, I’m just throwing her out there as an example of a handsome woman. Back then, beautiful females had square-er faces, brown locks, bold features, and an extra 15 pounds for added volumptuosity (I totally made that word up). It seems unfair that I could get as much old man ass as I want, but 90% of the people my own age would prefer a bottle blond with an eating disorder and a pointy face.  CLEARLY I am living in the wrong decade – or century for that matter!

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