Too Little Too Young

I met quite the most lovely younger woman the other night but… and yes there is a “but”. Isn’t there always where I’m concerned…

Okay so I’ve told you about some of the younger women who’ve previously crossed my path; whether it was that murderously intent French-Canadian, or that rather semi-neurotic ex-model or even Kerry Witts, my first solace after Jane. But in hindsight I was probably less gracious about them than I’m going to be here, although on the flipside I’ll probably now come across as patronising instead. Still that can’t be helped; it’s a tale to tell after all.

I met her during after work drinks with my team in the local boozer when amidst washing away the week’s highs and lows we’d noticed another group who also occupied the same serviced offices as ourselves sat a couple of tables away, and after a few waves and smiles had invited them to come and join our merry little band in the grandest tradition of being sociable.

Well as chairs were dragged, more drinks were bought, hands were shaken and full introductions made, so I found myself sitting next to her; their office manager as it turned out and someone who I’d often espied toing and froing it from our building but also someone who beyond the odd polite nod I’d never really passed the time of day with. Her name was Lisa, a most nicely spoken young woman as you’re ever likely to meet in my book, and ultra efficient according to one of her colleagues who rather sycophantically sang her praises during the early forays of our collected chatter (plus whom I have to say had the most captivating brown eyes – I’m all about eyes at the moment, what with the green-eyed Dane the other week – to match her tidy bob and dark, enviably unsullied complexion).

Anyway as conversations often do round a big table in a noisy pub, so our one great big one split off into many smaller ones, and that’s how I got talking to her, even as my team bonded with our other guests, bought more drinks and got steadily rowdier.

Normally I held off. I mean it wasn’t like the old days in media sales; now I’m usually a bit more reticent about letting the managerial guard down in even social situations if the “kids” are present (unless I’ve foolishly had one too many). But hey, she wasn’t a member of “my” team was she, and we were just talking, and I really was making a point of remaining gentlemanly if somewhat patronising (as I said just now) in my approach, just so as not to appear something of sleaze.

As we conversed I discovered Lisa was in her mid twenties, lived with flatmates and liked the usual stuff (plus cats). And no she wasn’t seeing anyone; she was a bit too independent for all that currently and so hadn’t met the right guy yet (bar one, but they hadn’t been able to work things out although he seemed to stay in periodic contact on Facebook). Indeed she was more convinced she was going to just end up as a spinster (yep still with cats) instead.

Well I soon found myself beginning to like her. She was disarmingly charming, intelligent, had a lot to say (and she became so infectiously “alive” the more enthusiastic she got about saying it too), seemed interested in what tales I dared tell her, appeared effortlessly gracious and all in all epitomised that whole “girl next door” ideal my director always rattles on about whenever he’s trying to convince me it’s high time I got involved with someone (little does he know my own thought processes along these lines at the moment). In other words she really was as lovely as I said at the outset. So why not ask her out for a more intimate drink sometime then.

Well because…

Because you see it was precisely some of those aspects about her that strangely lessened the attraction almost the moment I was starting to entertain it. This seems a daft thing to say but I guess there was something just too nice, too innocent, too twee, too freshly post studenty about her; especially as the more she drank the more she just started to seem so… so “young” (and hey I mean that even by my pal Sammie’s standards who’s also younger but a tad more clued up). Thus beautiful as she undoubtedly was, I could now see something almost too incorruptibly perfect in that beauty, like an unspoiled china doll that melted your heart but not your soul. Actually that’s a bit pretentious isn’t it? What I really think is she wasn’t “old” enough for me.

I guess I’m not being fair though. I mean unlike those other younger women I’ve encountered, what young chap couldn’t fail to be enamoured by such a girl like Lisa. But fact is after a while I wasn’t. And by the same token I doubt she was with me either. I probably came across as “too old” (at 34 hah!) and too aloof as much as she appeared “too” young. But it did at least confirm how it’s maturity I’m way more attracted to with its own resolved imperfections and worldly wiser (and thus sexier) assurance.

Mind you she’s only got it all to gain. I mean in ten years time or more trust me, she’ll be to die for…

By Bastian Dash – read his adventures on your personal home page


Get the latest from the blog: