… because y’all, I am no longer a spring chicken. No way! You’re so young! you say, after I stare at you pointedly and cough.
But unfortunately you’re wrong. I might still have a tight body and be hot AF– you do! you are! you say after I “accidentally” kick you under the table– but I’m definitely getting to an age that will soon be described as “mature.”
As with all things, I realized this because of TV.
When I hit my 30s, I first realized I was Team Adult now thanks to Gilmore Girls. When GG came out I was in high school, and I was totally behind Rory whenever she got into a fight with her mom. [SPOILER ALERT for those of you so far behind in life that you haven’t seen the best show ever yet]. Rory lost her virginity to her now-married ex boyfriend? Well, perhaps she wasn’t making the best choices but GET OFF HER CASE LORELAI. She wanted to drop out of Yale, live in her grandparents’ pool house, screw around with her super-hot, super-rich boyfriend? YOU GO GIRL! (yes, that is a decision I would still make and stand behind, have you SEEN Matt Czuchry?). Irresponsible teenage decisions? I was for ’em!
YOU’RE WELCOME, readers.
Phew, now that we’ve all taken a moment to cool down a little…um … anyway, I re-watched Gilmore Girls in my 30s expecting to have the same reactions I did at 19, but as you can predict because you’re a reasonable and intelligent person, I didn’t react quite as planned. On rewatch, I was fully invested in Lorelai laying down the law. Go to school! Stop sleeping with married men! Use sunscreen! (ok that one I made up, but Rory and Lorelai were both very fair, so I assume they were SPF-ing like crazy in Stars Hollow). Rory had gone from the cool, spunky chick that lived in my memory to an entitled, clueless brat. Not because the character changed– just because I had gotten older, started wearing breathable butt-covering underwear, and taken on six figures of student loans.
I was watching TV the other day and I had a another Big Life Realization…
I’m into TV dads now.
I was watching Speechless and realized that Jimmy DiMeo was giving me funny feelings in my no-no zone. (Yes, I hate myself for typing that.) He’s just so… responsible. Emotionally present. Loyal, wry but good natured, full of teachable moments. Even his dad-like schlubbiness added a certain charm.
Yep, DILFS are what get me going now. Goodbye, days of liking young, carefree hunks. Goodbye, you floppy-haired human Labradors with the chiseled abs and the gleaming teeth. You look like boys to me.
GOODBYE YOUTH. It was nice while you lasted.
I guess it’s not always bad. There’s always Rafael from Jane the Virgin for us DILF-lovers.
DE NADA, everyone.