I’m lucky because my life is a shining example of magical thinking. I’m also lucky because I look younger than what I am. Of course I use this to my full advantage. I’m often forgiven for the stupid, immature things I do simply because I look too young to have known better. I also carry around Tonka trucks to throw on the ground when I’m having a temper tantrum.
One of the peculiar effects of not looking my age, though, is being hit on by younger men. Which is copiously better than being hit on by creepy old baldies who want to show me Florida. Still, it puts me in a precarious situation. Should I be gentle with their frail and untested egos, or should I crush their silly sense of self with a crash course in real life?
Please, Please Stop Trying To Be Fashionable
I’m sorry, but the backwards baseball cap, wife beater shirt, and jeans hanging down to your knees all make you look stupid. Worse, it shows you to be a crowd-following sheep who doesn’t have an original thought or any true sense of who you are.
Look, finding out who you are is a lifelong endeavor. There’s no shame in that. But you have to stop trying to be like everyone else before you can even start to be yourself. Now that’s enough of my Dear Abby routine. In case you missed it, YOU LOOK DUMB.
We All Know You’re Not From The Hood, So Stop It, Okay?
It is painful to watch you try to act like you grew up on the streets of downtown when we all know you grew up in the wealthy suburbs. It’s also laughable. The bling, the 17-inch rims on Daddy’s 1993 BMW, and the weird accent you’re trying to fake all adds up to: you are a douche bag.
Hey, I stopped pretending I grew up where I didn’t a long time ago. Now I freely admit where I was raised: on a unicorn farm in Atlantis. If you would just accept that you know more about stock options than you do about gang initiation, you’ll probably feel more at peace. And I’ll stop laughing at you behind your back. (Maybe.)
Remember: Your Music Sucks
That’s right, it does. I’m really sorry about that. It’s a generation thing. Your stupid gumball pseudo-singers are pimples on the asses of David Gilmour and Eric Clapton. Now that might not be a pretty picture, but neither is your tee-shirt that’s telling me your current rock idol has sex with alligators and then refrigerates her breast milk.
Now I could tell you when you’re my age you might be doing the same thing, but you won’t. You know why? Well I just told you: because your music sucks!
I hope this advice didn’t hurt or offend anyone. If it did, go explore it in your next counseling session, okay? While you do, I’ll be taking a trip back home to visit the unicorns.