For the last time....NO!

I'm just going to put this bluntly.

You are 47. That makes you 25 years older than me. That's an entire person that can drink, vote, and rent a car without all the extra fees.

I do not want to chat with you. I don't even want to think about chatting with you. I especially do not want to see the words, "Hey baby girl...how you doin?" in my inbox.

I kid you not. Unless you are Joey Tribbiani, it ain't workin.

(And for the record I have not been a baby girl since 1985-86).

People can accuse me of harboring a great hatred for men over the age of 35 all they want. Or at least for being extremely harsh on the elder gents. To which I say, I spent eight months interning at the Journal Sentinel surrounded by male business reporters all over the age of 35. Eight months working and chatting and hanging out with incredibly intelligent and delightful men over the age of 35.

But I never said I wanted to date any of them. Much less marry them. Sorry guys.

I really don't get it. In the two months that I've been online dating, I've had as many over 40 guys trying to snatch my phone number as I do candles on my birthday cake. I'm flattered, I swear. But I do not care if you play golf with Donald Trump on the weekends. I don't care if you could reimburse my parents for my Marquette Education 5,297 times over. I don't care if you spend 3 hours on the treadmill every day and have abs of steel.

The answer yesterday and today and likely tomorrow and in 15 other blog posts before this grand assignment is done is still the same.

No.