I have a “type.” So sue me. I spent a few minutes being embarrassed about it, and then the last five or six years trying to find someone who will fulfill all of my requirements. That’s obviously worked out nicely (she types lying in bed by herself covered in a film of Cheeto dust). My prerequisites include, but are not limited to: a receding hairline, an overall “I don’t care about my physique” attitude (aka a dad body), and most importantly someone who can proudly rock tube socks, some clear plastic thick rimmed reading glasses and a handlebar mustache, hopefully all at once. Depression-baby values and a pro ruler-to-wrist smacking mentality are added bonuses. What I seek, dear internet, is not a 2014 Brooklyn Hipster. My ideal partner is a glorified father-figure of the late 1960’s.
While I acknowledge fulfilling all of said requirements seems to be a difficult feat, as dads of that generation are currently bordering great grandpa territory/death, I still have hope. I’ve attached a few of my top contenders for my your viewing pleasure. Do yourself a favor and picture each of these fine men donning one of these outfits:
Was I born in the wrong era? Am I just a reverse-cougar? Is there such a thing as a reverse-cougar? If so, is there a better sounding name for it?
Uptown Moxie 