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When old wolves line-up for love... :
Grandpops get ego popped to the past!
Gaston de Rosayro
 Make way for the seasoned strategists, a band of old-timers at whose
expense Mother Nature has pulled a cruel joke. Everyone is aware that
they basically a completely pathetic old lecher who never got past any
of his sleazy flirtations.
The Yanks say they put a man on the Moon. And some women say if they
put a man on the moon, they should be able to put them all up there. But
again the old lechers go one step further making a giant romantic leap
for mankind by being over the moon with their fantasies of debauchery.
I have observed a guy named Douggie, an ancient man in running shorts
stretching his antiquated leg muscles on a fence as a bevy of young
women trots by and suddenly the purpose of running becomes very
clear.Youth.The preservation and elongation of youth, the postponement
of decrepitude. Good luck, old man!
 Then there was this astonishingly self-deluded, portly old rake who
used to visit the press club after being sympathetically placed in the
journalistic geriatric paddock because of his committed years of
service. He was always collapsing into a hunch over his drink snarling
at his fellow male imbibers. He was the very image of the cynical
misanthrope.
But he was the epitome of charm and chivalry whenever a woman walked
in. His unshakable belief in his ability to seduce anything in skirts
periodically transformed him into the eternal secondary school Romeo. He
was an unattractive, old, huge, sweating, dull man who loved to chat up
and expect dates from young, pretty girls. This is a recurrent theme I
have seen many a time. Don't get me wrong, there is nothing wrong with
older men chatting up younger women or unattractive men chatting up
pretty women.
We all have our qualities that cannot be predetermined at face-value.
However there are extreme situations and what makes them more extreme is
the audacity with which the man desperately and unrelentingly
propositioned the dames.
So what is the verdict? Do these men look in the mirror ever or
listen to themselves speak? Are they simply delusional? Or maybe they
have managed to convince a few highly insecure females to go out with
them through constant flattery and desperate behaviour and this has in
turn caused them to have higher expectations?
It has also been said that there is no fool like an old fool, except
a young fool. But the young fool has first to grow up to be an old fool
to realise what a darn fool he was when he was a young fool.
As I grow older, I pay less attention to what men say. I just watch
what they do. A journalist soon learns the art of human psychology by
simply observing. As they say, a psychologist is a man who watches
everyone else when a beautiful girl enters the room.
They are well past the stage of middle age when a man is at the peak
of his earning power. But these old fools are in their dotage and have
still not relinquished their yearning power. Yes gentle reader, it seems
all too true that Mother Nature gives nuts to those with no teeth.
That is what She did to an old satyr colleague named Norman, who
imagined he was God's gift to womankind. Every time he opened his mouth
he held forth on his amorous triumphs.
One would have thought that he was singlehandedly responsible for the
Norman Conquests. Now Norman was also a fellow columnist at the
newspaper in Hong Kong I worked in. He too was given a picture byline.
He was the kind of dead end writer meaning he had stopped growing at
both ends and was now growing in the middle. His favourite clichés were
hackneyed ones such as: 'There is many a good tune played on an old
fiddle. Or another that went: 'Women should be obscene and not heard'
and 'a man is only as old as the woman he feels'.
Anyway, we were once at the bar of the Hong Kong Press Club when an
attractive young woman came up and sort of snuggled beside Norman. She
burrowed in, not so much out of affection, but rather because when
Norman leans against the end of the bar, there's not a lot of room left
to work with. Being a middle-aged man with low self esteem and a raging
Peter Pan complex, Norman noticed her right away. They exchanged
pleasantries. Norman now imagining he had a trace of the casanova magic
started a conversation. His goofy grin was priceless to witness.
The usual response he received in such situations was: "Stop staring
at me you dirty, old lech!" Norman ordered a drink for her and popped
the question: "So what's your name?" She replied: "Jane!" Norman
quipped: "You Jane! Me Tarzan!"
The young woman smiled, a blazing pearly blast. "You are Norman
Langford who writes all those columns in the paper, right? " He admitted
proudly that he was, adding: "That is me. Sorry if I have offended you
anytime." She shot back: "Oh no, I don't read them. Do you know you were
in school with my....."
Norm cut her short: "Oh, with your sister right?" The pretty lass
shook her head doubtfully but before she could answer Norm expostulated:
"Okay I get it. I can see the resemblance now. You are Elaine's
daughter. I used to take your mother dancing!"
Young Jane went into titters: "Not really! But close enough! It was
actually Shirley, my maternal grandmother!" I am talking about an
incident that occurred about a dozen years ago. Norm even then refused
to admit that he was more than 54, even if that made his children
illegitimate.
Young Jane went on: "Oh, I almost forgot why I came! Gran is
celebrating her 67th birthday on Saturday. She would be delighted to see
you there. It would be a wonderful surprise because we are inviting all
her old school friends as well." The barman ducked behind the counter
and was rolling on the floor convulsed with mirth.
The loungers at the bar exploded uproariously in one accord. The
place was engulfed with spilled drinks and the gurgle of liquid
laughter.
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