Some Older Women Are Smart

"Yeah sounds good. I liked that place last time."

"OK, but I need to piss pretty bad... let me run into Seersucker right here and use the bathroom, then we'll go."

Seersucker is a newer, swankier bar in the Gaslamp area of San Diego and has quickly become a popular place for people in their thirties. The crowd is generally a little classier and more mature than in most of the surrounding bars and nightclubs, but the women are usually older - even though they know how to dress and present themselves well.

I knew we'd only be in there a few minutes, but as we walked through the crowd towards the bathroom I couldn't help but to scan the crowd for girls. Two immediately caught my attention. They were both attractive, and although I could tell that they were probably a couple years older than me, one was definitely my type. She had long, black, straight hair and light skin, with dark eyes and a wide smile. More importantly, she was wearing a small, tight cocktail dress and high heels. There was no way I could leave without at least trying to talk to her.

In the bathroom I asked my brother "Did you see those two girls? The dark-haired one had a slamming hot body. She looks a little older than me, but she is gorgeous, and that dress and those heels are ridiculous. I just want to talk to her quickly before we leave."

On the way out I walked over and said hello and started talking to them. They were friendly, and we had a fun conversation. A couple times I took a natural opportunity to look down at the dark-haired woman's body, and I almost had to stop myself from drooling. It was impeccable. I wanted to tear off that tiny dress and handle her small, perfect, frame. After seeing the girls up-close, though, my suspicion about their age was confirmed. When they asked about my brother's and my ages, I asked them how old they were. The one I liked was 29 and her beauty was clearly starting to fade. Five years ago should would have been a ten. That night she was probably about an eight.

Our conversation was interrupted by another guy who wanted to talk to the girls. He had zero game, and the interaction turned awkward quickly. The girls excused themselves to go to the bathroom.

"Never let a girl choose to leave the interaction and then be found waiting for her to come back," I told him, imparting one lesson I'd learned a few times the hard way. "You will look like a chump. Let's go sit at the bar until they come out." And that is what we did.

A few minutes later they walked out of the restrooms. I could tell they were looking around for us where we'd been talking to them earlier. They didn't see us, so they started making motions to leave the bar. As they walked past us on the way to the door, I caught eye contact with them and asked them if they were heading out. I had to get the dark-haired girl's phone number. I knew from how smoothly the conversation went earlier that she would give it to me. I knew that I couldn't date a girl her age, but neither could I resist that body and hair.

We made small talk for a few moments about where they were going next, then they started towards the door again.

"Before you go, let me take your phone number." I said to the dark-haired girl as I pulled out my phone. "I'd like to talk to you again."

The dark-haired girl laughed. "You want to take my number?" she asked, amused. "But you're 28!"

"Yeah, haha, I know. And you are 29. Listen, the only girl I've loved was a year older than me. It can work." I said this - truthfully - as I opened a new contact in my phone, ignoring her resistance - which I assumed was just an attempt to see how serious I was about her. It might be true that I was too young for her, but I knew that wishful thinking prevented most women from actually acknowledging this, so the possibility didn't cross my mind.

At this point, any other girl who had shown as much attraction to me as this girl would have stepped in to look over my shoulder as I put her number into my phone. But this girl's body language didn't include even the slightest motion towards granting my request. She literally laughed it off. I forget now exactly what she said next, but in that moment I realized that she was absolutely serious in her refusal, despite of how playful she was about communicating it. The sum total of her words and body language said "Ha! You must think I am stupid if you think I am going to give my phone number to a guy younger than me. You know as well as I do that it won't go anywhere; don't play dumb. I like you, but let's not be naive here. Goodnight."

As she said "Goodnight," and walked out the door with her friend. I sat there, stunned and confused, as my brother and I watched them walk out the door into the street.

"What the hell was that?" I asked my brother. But the question was rhetorical, because I knew exactly what it was. It was smart.


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