Most women know this for a fact: most guys minds stop aging around twenty-five.
This explains all the ridiculously inane actions we consider as the odometer clicks another thousand days.
With a day off directly in hand, a shower minutes ago and a newly minted Beard of Destiny, I made my way to the local used CD store.
At thirty seven years of age, I'm still quite old school. I don't download music or iterate with iTunes. I like my comedy collection to be stored on CD or a classic phonograph record.
That's just the way I roll on the turntable of life. Scratchy scratch.
Moments after entering I hear a cute little voice say, "Hello." I glance around but my limited 20/100 vision can't zone in on where the hell it's coming from. I figure it's a faint voice from a past nurse I once lusted after dancing around in my head, so I turn left and make my way to the counter to discover where the Comedy section is hiding.
The Pink Haired Temptress made her presence fully known with another adorable, "Hello."
She couldn't have been older than twenty-five with bold pink hair and pure black clothing adoring her petite little figure.
"Hi, I was looking for the Comedy section."
The Pink-Haired Temptress stood up and her eyes rolled up into her head and she bit her lip, trying to remember where the laughs were hiding.
"I think it's over here," she blurted as she zipped into the far corner of the store. Little CD sleeves scattered in her wake she moved so fast.
Adhering to our age difference, I just tried to keep up.
She zipped around another aisle, planted her foot, spun around and made her way back over territory she had just explored.
I finally caught up to her and she put her arms out, palms up and declared, "Here it is."
"Thank you," I replied, fully taken by her perky lips and deep brown eyes.
"Let me know if I can help you with anything else."
As she darted off, my Stacy Vision couldn't help but zone in on her perfectly shaped ass in those insanely tight leather pants.
As I mentioned earlier...thirty seven year old body...twenty five year old mind.
I browsed through Carlin and Sandler, Pryor and Leary hoping to find something intriguing to whet my comedic tastes.
This is when the realization erupted in my mind.
"Dude, she's been giving you the googly eyes the whole time."
Let me explain.
There's a certain look women get in their eyes when they think I'm attractive. It happens so rarely that I have it burned into my head and emblazoned in my memory banks.
I glanced up momentarily to find that she was in the next aisle organizing other CD's. I smiled and she smiled back. Cool Stacy fully engaged and I went back to browsing CD's while she darted away once again.
Twenty-five year old women sure move fast. Which is kind of symbolic of our age difference.
I grab a couple Carlin albums to beef up my George addiction (he is a creative genius...I could do a whole blog site just on his inventiveness) and make my way to the counter.
"Did you find everything you needed?"
"Yes, you were very helpful. And you move really quickly. I didn't know if I could keep up."
She scanned my purchases and had a big smile on her face.
"Oh, I'm sure you could keep up."
The Stacy Flirt-Meter was on overload. I could've dived into that opening.
"What's your name?"
The Pink-Haired Temptress' shy demeanor was starting to evaporate.
"Lily," she proudly stated as she handed me a small plastic bag with logo feces emblazoned on the front.
"I like that. It has the same rhythm as my name, Stacy."
She leaned forward on the counter and her blouse opened slightly. I kept screaming at myself not to be a typical guy and glance down while our eyes were meeting.
"I've never known a guy Stacy. You don't meet them very often."
"Usually at the monthly meetings, I'm the only guy there. It's filled with the female Stacy's. Stacy with An E, IE, Double E and the ever popular silent X."
The Pink-Haired Temptress giggled and wouldn't take her eyes off mine.
"Are you always this silly?"
"It's not me, it's the beard."
I mimicked her leaning on the counter and spoke softly.
"Do you have any dinner plans?"
Her eyes rolled up into her head again and she bit her lip. After a momentary pause she grabbed a Post-It and jotted down her number.
"I'm off on Tuesdays and Sundays," she said, her eyes still googly.
"Well I'm off on Wednesday's and Saturdays. This will never work."
I grabbed the Post-It off the counter and just smiled.