On Getting Hit-on Constantly, by 80 year-old men.

Old man #1: "Hey, you date?"

 ---"Yeah, nobody in particular at the moment but I do date.."

"Well... you are great at what you do, and you're cute. If I was 35 years younger, I'd date you."

Old man #2: "Me Too! I'd take you for a ride up the canyon in my Monster Truck, if I still had it," 
(Side note: this man is a pathological liar, and it is extremely entertaining. There is no way of really knowing if he actually did own a monster truck, but he definitely sparred with Chuck Norris and was a millionaire, and also snuck onto a submarine in the War and has broken every bone in his body and slept with over 100,000 women at one point of his life. He also somehow manages to live life with only a left ventricle and one lung, and is on first-name basis with Mitt Romney. So don't you worry about it.)

#1: "Yeah, I'd take you for rides outside just to show you off."
#2: "I would be totally respectful, and I mean I wouldn't rape you or anything, we'd just go for a nice ride up the canyon in my monster truck..."

Things quickly got awkward. Let's move on.

I had a good laugh, and thanks, I really am flattered. In a, when your grandma pinches your cheek and tells you you are adorable, kind of way.

Well driving home was fun too. Got hit on by two extremely attractive guys in the car next to me at a red light. Now, these situations are fun, but let's talk about what happens in my head vs what actually happens:

Exhibit A:

 Except Vice Versa, as I am a female, not Rowan Atkinson. But you get the point.

"Hey! You're cute. What's your name? ...You should text me,
but not while driving.." (People, I was at a red light. There is no shame in texting at a red light. And this text was extremely important. but not important enough to keep me from talking back to these two striking young men)

So, naturally I act cool..
Which translates to,

I act like an idiot.

They ask for my number.
Light turns green.
I "cooly" tell them my number as I drive away, hair blowing in the wind, music turned up..
Which translates to,

nervously mumble-yelling my number in a loud voice as I totally floor it, barely giving them a chance to hear the "eight-oh-one!" (this reaction played out a lot smoother in my head 0.2 seconds before it actually happened)

Smooth move, kait. Smooth. Move. At least it makes for a good story though. (Cue thinking of really smooth things I could have said 5 minutes after it happened)

Afterwards I decide I need another red light so I can finish my important text message, which naturally means that in the first time in 10 months I hit EVERY single light on University Parkway green, which for anyone who has ever lived in Provo will tell you, that is a straight-out Christmas MIRACLE. 

Oh, and I then witnessed a three-car pileup 20 feet in front of me at an intersection.


Good day.


Back to the 80-year olds. It is nice that you wish to date me and show me off,  thank you for the compliment, but tell that to the 21 year olds my age. I mean, I have won the hearts of plenty an 80-year old, but things get a little complicated when we narrow things down to my actual generation. Now this is partly my fault, because I actually really enjoy the single life, perhaps a little too much at times...

...but sometimes you do wonder. Come on fella, you can hurry it up a bit can't you? I'm pretty fine waiting, but you know. I am almost 22, ("oh no, heaven forbid," says delusional provo), so everyone back home thinks that I am going down the cat-lady path. (Which if I do go down that path, I would totally choose goats over cats).

For now, I'll just take the compliments for what they are. Look, sir, I am sorry but I am just here to give you your pills, and there is also kind of a huge age gap. 

Laughter is good for the soul, and these moments somehow never get old for me.  Pun Definitely Intended.

Good Day.

Spunky

Today I was looking through an old 1941 yearbook with one of the residents, and she was asking me to read a few of the notes that people wrote to her, as she had trouble reading the small, curly handwriting. I happily obliged, and began to read aloud from a very long note in this fancy cursive (sad that cursive is such a dying art). Anyway, I begin reading. (For the sake of the story, we'll just call this resident Meg.)

"Dear Meg... I think you're the tops. You are a really swell girl and I've really loved getting to know you.... "

(Do you not love their slang? tops, swell.. in fifty years our kids are going to be rolling their eyes at the weird slang we have adopted in our generation)

"...I was pretty sad when you said you were going steady, not because I didn't think you were capable, but because I always wanted to go steady with you, and it was sad that you were unavailable. I liked you even more than Nancy, even when I was dating her. After a while I realized she was just like everybody else. But you aren't, Meg. You aren't like all the other girls. You are really swell. And I'm not just saying the same old B.S. that people write in yearbooks..."

(yes, they said B.S. back then, too) 

"....I really mean that. And I know a lot of other guys who feel the same. I am really glad that we are friends, even though I'd like to be more than friends. Just remember you can always come to me for anything.... " 

Oh yes, it got pretty spicy. Turns out Meg was quite the man-killer!

I never doubted. I hope that if I get Alzheimer's, I'm the Meg of the place. She always laughs at her own jokes, sneaks food to the dog under the table, and is just spunky.
Then we of course had to look up his picture. And as soon as I pointed at it Meg said,
"Oh HIM? He's ugly!"
That made us all laugh.  He wasn't even that bad looking. She apparently just had a lot of room to be choosey.

Later as we flipped to the pages, next to some random girl's picture, Meg had written a line across the page pointed to her face and one word. "CROOK!"

I love her. I love them all. I love my job. :)