Should I Start Sleeping with Twenty-Somethings?

The universe or overlords or whoever the fuck is in charge doesn’t seem to want to bestow upon me a proper boyfriend. I’m ready, I’m available, I’ve done the work and landed in a lovely life that I’d love to share. But no one comes. Crickets.

Fine. I surrender to your will.

This gets me thinking, what do I really want a boyfriend for? I’ve got pretty much everything handled aside from the occasional un-openable jar. Oh fuck it, I’ll be real with you. I want to have sex all the time. Something happens to women when they hit forty. Plus I’m a Scorpio, so I’m double screwed. Except not.

Maybe I’m approaching this all wrong. I’ve been holding out for this genuinely dateable dream guy; someone who will take me to nice dinners, someone I can talk to for days on end about real life shit, roadtrip with AND screw brains out, blah blah blah. Maybe I just need to focus on one need at a time.

A lightbulb flicks on over my head. I’m a genius. I’ll take on a young lover!