I’m Old Enough To Be Your…Big Sister

While sitting in front of my house going through mail, I was politely propositioned by an impressive young man, in daylight no less.

He was 30ish, good looking with Kennedy like hair falling coyly across his forehead.  What got my attention were his cufflinks gleaming in the sun.  He looked like a baby stockbroker who slipped into jeans leaving his day wear on from the waist up.

“Pretty nice out,” he said, squinting my way.  It was so bright I wondered why his outfit didn’t come with a pair of shades.

“Finally,” I said not looking up.

Two minutes later.

“I couldn’t help noticing you…I’ve seen you before.”


“If you stroll these parts often enough that would be bound to happen.”

“To be honest, I’m always hoping I’ll see you.”

In my Prednisone haze, I needed to nip this in the bud.  The fact I could even hear him was miraculous enough, those steroids taking their bow, but it’s not in me, no pun intended, to canoodle with an infant unless he’s safely strapped in a stroller.

“I’m Harry,” he said, extending his hand.

Okay, Connecticut made her appearance to shake it then said, “How come you don’t have a young, pretty gal on your arm on such a lovely day?”

He seemed thrown by this, the Nutmeg State’s intention, and didn’t answer right away.

“Well, what about you…wanna take a walk?”

When you’re detached, that’s when you’re the most attractive…the chase commencing as if the bugle sounded.

Suddenly sadness swelled up in me remembering how sweet it is to have a beau, even for the afternoon, but I just couldn’t allow myself to enjoy being flattered by such a young man.

What could we talk about, the spinal tap I just had?  And how many times will I have to mutter, can you say that again…I didn’t hear that.

“You know Harry, that’s a mighty fine offer on such a spectacular day, but I have some things to do, but I want to thank you for asking me.”

I got up, his cufflinks still sparkling like stars, and took leave.

I cried all the way up the stairs.



About Susannah Bianchi

I'm just a girl who likes to write slightly on slant. I've had a career in fashion, dabbled in film and to be honest, I don't like talking about myself. Now my posts are another matter so I will let them speak for themselves. My eBooks, A New York Diary, Model Behavior: Friends For Life and Notes From A Working Cat can be found on Amazon.com. Thanks.
This entry was posted in Beauty, Fashion, Health, New York City, sexual relationships, Women and men and tagged , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

28 Responses to I’m Old Enough To Be Your…Big Sister

  1. That’s very bittersweet, Susannah. Still, it’s always nice to have members of the opposite sex take an interest, even if they’re way too young. I like the anthropomorphic Connecticut that pops up in your stories. 🙂


  2. micklively says:

    Incontrovertible proof: you’ve still got it.
    (This is where you give me an alternative, negative, but not convincing, interpretation)


  3. skinnyuz2b says:

    I agree with Mick, you’ve still got it, Susannah. And it’s always nice to be asked. And I also agree that when you’re not on the prowl they all come knocking at your door. Definitely a lesson there, but not one that I ever learned (in my younger days).


  4. Elle Knowles says:

    Look at it this way Susannah – what’s worse? A younger man enamored by an older woman or an older man drooling over a younger woman? If you could warp them into one you’d have your perfect mate! 😉 ~Elle


  5. Poor Harry is just an old soul in search of interesting conversation and a beautiful face to keep him company while the girls in is age group are busy sporting duck lip selfies in every mirror that crosses their paths. It’s a sad state of affairs ….
    You still got it Susannah!


  6. Enjoy the attention and go on with your day. You still have it. Obviously you look like a fun person or he never would have approached you. Sometimes I think about what dating must be like at my age — how do you tell a suitor that one boob can’t be touched, you get occasional gas you can’t control and when you have to go…well…you have to go. Youth is wasted on the young. Whoever said that was so right.


  7. MJ says:

    How charming! Maybe he isn’t just a flirt, but a secret (literary) agent…or an undercover reporter…or an old soul dwells within that boyish exterior. In any case, he has good taste.


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