Image by Stuck in Customs via FlickrDon't know why I was so jolly there in my greeting. I am actually feeling a little forlorn today. Say ah! Just like the lost sheep at the shack of lost hopes, by the lake of despond(I know, you say, it must be really bad), I am realising that I am unwanted.
Yes, it would appear that yours truly, one of life's eternal matinee idols can no longer get arrested in the romance stakes. The problem? Unless Dame Judy Dench, Helen Mirren, Kylie Minogue and their like are intending to knock my door some time soon (That wasn't an innuendo, by the way. I'm not that bad!), I have to advertise my wares to the world.
I know, of course, that if they meet me, they will be under my spell and putty in my hand. You will already be aware of my hypnotic charm and devestating boyish good looks. All the greats have come to me over the years for tips on attracting the ladies. I don't like to brag, but I will. Brad Pitt, Tom Jones, Tom Cruise, Warren Beatty owe it all to me. I even tried to help Eddie 'The Eagle' Edwards and Piers Morgan, but some people are beyond help!
My trouble is, dear reader, (Oops, I've gone all Jane Austen!), that when I put out my details to dating agencies, sites and print media, they have the audacity to ask my age. When I inform them that I'm 86, they often chortle and say they don't get a lot of call for dates for people of my age! How ageist and anyway, I'm not people of my age, I'm Mr William, debonair man about town-an octogenarian with a face to launch a thousand ships. (Not break a thousand mirrors, as you thought!)
I know where I have been going wrong now--I tell the truth. I tell the lucky respondents to my ads that I may be 86, but I'm 60 from the waist up and 90 from there down. You see, my legs get sore when I walk far. My daughter says I should stop using this silly joke, as she says that implying, even in jest, that you are dead from the waist down is not going to aid my romantic prospects!
I can see that everyone else bends the truth and some jump up and down on it till it begs for mercy! I once spoke with what I thought was a lovely lady. She did have a deep voice, but I put that down to a hard life and smoking 60 Bensons a day. Turns out though, it was a crossdressing, all-in wrestler, who wanted to meet me at a motorway service station, and it wasn't for tea and scones. I think he had crumpet in mind! Lucky escape there.
From now on, I will play the same game as the rest. I will say I'm Peter André-only problem will be if they say they are Jordan!
Well, I'm off. Today's preparatory challenge for the 2012 Olympics- a new fun sport called base jumping. You clamber over and jump across buildings in the urban landscape. Well, it's better than staying at home and 'climbing the walls' until I get a date!
Yours charmingly yet increasingly frustratedly
The blogging Gogfather
No comments:
Post a Comment