“Why are you not dating?” The Statuesque Young Woman (SYW), imperious in body and language, wanted to know.
“Ummm...” replied Uncle Old Guy (UOG), “The spirit is willing but...” his voice trailing off as he contemplated the end of that aphorism and its implications. He needn’t have bothered. SYM was not listening.
She was scanning him, silvered head to well shod, if a touch weary, toes. Her brow delicately furrowed, but imperial for all of that. Her gaze evaluating and...”You present well” she said. “We...that is to say, I, fail to comprehend why W...I, never see you in the company of an Other” SYM’s commitment to gender equality and choice unmarked by the momentary pronoun slip.
“I”, SYW said, firmly taking control of her hoi polloi mingling persona, “find you an interesting person. You are, by all accounts, well travelled and adequately educated. I’m given to understand you speak more than one language. Further, your presence in this place and time suggests a degree of discretionary income which in addition to your lack of encumbrances such as family or spouse should, in and ordered and rational universe, which, I assure you it will be when I...but...that’s the not the point. Why are you alone?” Her tone suggesting that if the reports she had received were somehow inaccurate, heads would, if not roll, at the very least they’d rock. The tangential implication that the fault is intrinsic with UOG remained unsaid but loud in the arch of the imperial eyebrow.
“I...” UOG started to reply.
He needn’t have bothered.
“Such must not be allowed to endure”, SYW said, her look pinning UOG to the barroom floor, “I saw you in the company of some chick, if I have the phrase right, earlier. Go and find her and see to it.”
The Statuesque Young Woman turned away from UOG to lend her attention to the presence of another courtier, not unkindly, but definitely.
UOG sagged with relief, his incompetence at ‘seeing to it’ a well established truth and the royal attention being notoriously, ummm, peripatetic.

Eavesdropping on a conversation, a fairly tense conversation, on my FB feed, got me thinking.

The point of contention was an article written to highlight the undeniable truth that women, particularly young women face issues that men, of any age, fail to see as problems. Among them, the writer, with justifiable anger and anguish, referred to the issue of adult men “...hitting on 15 year old check-out girls.”

A respondent (male), while agreeing to the general tenor of the article, took exception (mild) to what he termed ageism as a counter to sexism. Ignoring, perhaps subsuming, the implications of paedophilia in his, to quote Bob Seeger, “...what to leave in, what to leave (I’ve always thought that ought to be ‘take’) out”, critique, the respondent ran into the buzz-saw of a co-respondent. It needs to be noted that the respondent is a gentleman of my acquaintance and is, to my certain knowledge, a man of impeccable ethics and responsibility, at least insofar as Lolita-esque issues are concerned. She, the co-respondent, was, and quite vehemently so, unwilling to allow to the issue of 15 year old girls being H. Humbert-ed to be minimized. The episode ended – Buzz-Saw – 1; Respondent; 0 with Respondent retiring from the field with grace (a degree of).

Which, as mentioned, got me to thinking; as a father (daughter) and grandfather (grand-daughter) I examined my own behavior towards the various check-out girls I have encountered through my consumerist life. I got to wondering if my service-worker friendliness could be misinterpreted. I must admit that it could be, and for that I apologize, retrospectively and prospectively, no offense and/or aggression intended. Rather, the ‘flirting’, if one wants to call it that is predicated on appreciation rather than acquisition. I am sorry that you, young server, have had to live a life in which friendliness is viewed as sexual aggression. If I could I’d change that. Not all references to your mien and demeanour are with the intention of denuding you. Sometimes, you remind me of my daughter at your age and that which you are interpreting as a come-on is no more than a pleased appreciation of your entry into the adult world.

None of this is to say that creepy old men aren’t trying to get into 15 year old pants. Just to point out that that is not all of us. Some, most, of us are just enjoying, without touching, the Spring.