This is Bryan.  He is a sweet boy.  He is studying advertising here in New York City.

He wanted to help me make a pie.

What was I gonna do, say no?

Me:  We’re making Banana Cream.

Him:  Good thing that’s my favorite.

Me:  Yes it is a good thing.

Him: I suppose it is.

Me:  I suppose I agree.

Him:  I suppose I do too.

There was a lot of supposing going on.

Me:  So you’re a student?

Him:  That’s right.  I study advertizing at SVA.

Me:  Sounds fun.

Him:  It’s a lot of work.  I work almost every day of my life.  I have like, three jobs.

Me:  Really?  Me too!

Him:  Oh?

Me:  Yup.  I bake specialty pies for benefits and celebrities.  I do comedy.  I also do commercial acting.

Him:  What’s that?

Me:  Acting for commercials.

Him:  Have you done anything I might have seen?

Me:  No.  Regional spots outside New York, and online stuff for boring companies that do things like make pressed aluminum.  Exciting.

Him:  I suppose.

Me:  I suppose not.  But I get by.

(Uh…  This didn’t really happen.  We didn’t really have a Lady and the Tramp moment with a banana.  You’re imagining things)

Him:  I cook and clean up after a guy who pays me to do that for him.

Me:  Doioioioioioioing!

Him:  What’s that?

Me:  That’s the sound of me getting a boner thinking about you cleaning someone’s house and cooking for them, naked.

Him:  I didn’t say naked.

Me:  I have a very active imagination.  Let me have my fantasy.

Him:  I suppose I will.

Me:  What’s your family like?

Him:  My dad was a jerk.  My mom worked her ass off every day to support him.  He was a drunk to end all drunks.

Me:  Was?  Did he die?

Him:  No.  But he’s gone now.

Me:  Oh.

Him:  Yeah.  It really motivated me to get up and do something with my life.  Even if I have to work really hard to achieve it, like I am now.

Me:  That sounds about right.  I’m proud of you.

Him:  You don’t even know me!

Me:  Even so.  I’m proud.

Him:  Hm.

Me:  Hold up.  Where did that bootie come from?

Him:  Ha.  Do I have a butt?

Me:  No, you have two of them.

Him:  Heh.

Me:  Usually you don’t see a butt like that on a guy your size.

Him:  I did a lot of bike riding back in Jersey.  6 miles a day or so.

Me:  Well.  Remind me to thank the good people at Schwinn.

Him:  Why?

Me:  Doioioioioioioioing!!!

Him:  Stop it, weirdo.

Me:  Hm.

Him: I really like this neighborhood.

Me:  Me too.

Him:  I’m moving here in 10 days.

Me:  What?

Him:  I’ll be living a few blocks from here.

Me: Uh oh.  That sounds like it could be trouble.

Him:  It might be.

Me:  Uh oh.

Him:  Don’t get your hopes up.  Jerk.


Him:  His face looks a little Aids Walk.

Me: Maybe, but if he’s in his early forties it’s quite possible that he’s just been binge drinking for 20 years.  It might not be Aids Walk at all.

Him:  Then again, it might. 

Me:  Yes.  Well the only way to know is to ask.

Him:  My butthole is both the fountain of youth and the BQE.

Me:  Frequently renewing, and refreshing.  Sometimes clogged.  Always a good way to get where you’re going.

Him:  OMG is that Sean Hayes?

Me:  No, that’s a drag queen.

Him:  I know, but is it Sean Hayes?


Me:  Looks like it.

Me:  What are the three things gays enjoy most on a Sunday afternoon?

Him: Meryl Streep, Sauvignon Blanc, and Poppers Florentine.

Me:  True…  Meryl will take any movie it seems…

Him:  And YOU’LL watch it, like a good homo.

Me:  Also true!

Him:  Ever since I started sleeping with other people of color I have to worry less about hiding my valuables in my oven when I get lucky.

Me:  You hide your valuables in your oven?

Him:  Just my passport and my wallet.  White people are kleptomaniacs.

Me:  We are?

Him:  Yes.  There’s a Winona Ryder inside all of you.

Me:  I thought it was a bossy Jewish man inside of me.

Him:  That was yesterday.

Me:  If only.

Him:  Whoops.  You just farted.

Me:  Yes.  I’m rotten inside.

Him:  That’s more than rotten.  What happened to you?

Me: I don’t know.  Something crawled inside me and died?

Him:  Ugh.  It’s TERRIBLE.  You should check your underwear.

Me:  I’m pretty sure I didn’t shit my pants, but it does feel like maybe there’s some parts of shredded pancreas or kidney I might have lost.

Him:  Rough.

Me:  I’m pretty sure I have two pancreases right?  It’ll be fine.

Him:  Light a match.

Him:  You look nice tonight.

Me:  Thanks!  I showered and prepped myself.  I might try to get lucky tonight.

Him:  What’s ‘prep’ yourself mean?

Me:  Oh, you know, shave, pluck the uni-brow, enema, cute outfit.

Him:  Planning on bottoming?

Me:  Not necessarily.  But who knows who I’ll meet?

Him:  You smell good.

Me:  I just wiped vanilla extract all over my junk.


Me:  It’s a phase.  I have to keep pushing myself to change and grow, and vanilla extract on my satchel is part of the process.

Him:  Really?

Me:  No.  I’m just weird.

Me: Hey, you look really good.

Him:  Hey, wow.  I can’t go to Williamsburg without running into you.

Me:  I like running into you.  I miss you.

Him:  I know.  I miss you too.


Him:  (clears throat) So, there’s free BBQ if you buy a drink.

Me: I know.  It’s just about the best thing in the world, right?


Me:  You look pretty.  Oh my God, look at you smile.  Look at that smile!

Him:  Stop.  We don’t talk like that anymore.

Me:  We can if we want to.

Him:  I don’t want you to.

Me:  Okay.

Him:  I think we’re going to go do Karaoke in K Town.

Me:  Sounds fun.

Him:  It’s extremely Asian.

Me:  Just like me.  I’m extremely Asian.  Just kidding.  I’m white.

Him:  What does that mean? 

Me: Apparently it means that I’m a klepto.  Can I have a hug, before you leave?

(long pause)

Him:  Okay.  But then I gotta go.

(long pause)



So I’m reading your blog entry on what homos dwell in what hood and I think you’re partially right.  I’m a middle management gay in Hells Kitchen, but I’m only mildly cunty and only at work or when dealing with someone in the real estate business.  Also, I believe Mr. Sondheim lives in Midtown East (like Turtle Bay-ish) which is technically above Grammercy.  I only know this because I used to live in that neighborhood and I’m pretty sure he and I were the only two homos there.  Except for when he had one locked in his dungeon.  I think he was next-door neighbors w/ Katherine Hepburn.  If we meet, remind me to do my impression of Katherine Hepburn starting a car.


Anyways, I gather from some of your blog posts that you are an improver of some sort?  And perhaps you teach as well?  I just started level III and it’s kicking my ass.  I feel remarkably exhausted and unfunny at the end of each class (I’ve only had 2 so far).  This is a change from the previous classes I took where I always left feeling some sort of “performance high”.  Ugh…it’s just not as fun.  And it’s not the teacher’s fault.  I like him and everything he says makes sense.  He’s supportive and everything.  While I understand that no two classes are alike, I’m wondering if this is  common.  I’m not sure that you can speak to it, but I don’t have any friends that have done this kind of stuff.

 And if you know nothing of improv and I’m confusing you w/ another blog, please feel free to direct some Hells Kitchen-esque cuntiness at me. 



Hey Timmy,

First things first.  Thanks so much for writing in.  I love getting letters from fans, frienemies, and ass wipes.  You seem like a nice guy.  Sweet and genuine.

Okay, on to your letter:

I’m a middle management gay in Hells Kitchen, but I’m only mildly cunty and only at work or when dealing with someone in the real estate business.

Ha.  Right.  And I’m getting pregnant this year, after I learn to levitate.  I don’t believe you.  Gays are cunty with each other in crowds.  Fact.  It’s very rare that I go to a Gay bar that has zero snark.  The Metropolitan can be cunt free, but usually that’s in the day times, during the BBQ parties, before everyone gets wasted.  Cunty is a language we speak to each other.  Generally it works like this: two or three gays group together and then snark all over pop culture, politics, or other gays across the room.  Are you sure you haven’t participated in this phenomenon?

Also, I believe Mr. Sondheim lives in Midtown East (like Turtle Bay-ish) which is technically above Grammercy.

Thanks for fixing the set up of my joke.  Jerk. 🙂

If we meet, remind me to do my impression of Katherine Hepburn starting a car.

Or playing checkers, or threading a needle while chatting with someone – this could be an entire web series.  Funny idea.  I wonder if you can change it to M. J. Fox?  Everyone has a Kate Hepburn impression, is my only concern.  Not that that should stop you.

I just started level III and it’s kicking my ass.  I feel remarkably exhausted and unfunny at the end of each class…  I’m wondering if this is  common. 

Yes, darling.  This is as common as say, Old Navy, or HPV.  Extremely common.

Level three is a crucial point in the development of an improviser.  Most of the schools take level three (of five, usually) as an opportunity to challenge the students to see improv as more than ‘fun.’  They’re most likely starting to try to get you to train your brain to recognize games or patterns that emerge in scenes.  When I teach I challenge my students to step outside the scene for a brief brief moment when the scene gets its first big laugh.  I want the kids to say to themselves, hey, what happened that got that big hearty laugh?  How can I heighten that?  How can I repeat the pattern?  How can I make the funny ‘problem’ worse instead of fixing it and breaking the pattern?

Level three is frequently amazing and fun, but it certainly puts students in their heads.  Don’t worry about that exhausted feeling.  It’s just you training your brain to exploit spontaneous funny patterns or ‘games.’  And it’s work.  And you can do it.  Trust this:  eventually your brain ‘gets it’ on a reflexive, instinctive level, and you find the joy again.  You just have to push through it and get there.  Sometimes students can stay in their heads for years, but most people have an uncomfortable six months or so.

I encourage you to start thinking of class work as just that.  Work.  If you’re to be an  improviser (don’t say improver, we don’t do that in New York) you should be a great one.  I say that selfishly – I want there to be more gays out there elevating the art form.

I’ll also take the opportunity here to encourage you to join a practice group, or form one with people you like and respect from your classes.  It’s an opportunity to get shows and rehearsals in there that you’re just doing for fun.  That way you won’t feel shortchanged when you’re exhausted from class.   Also, you develop relationships with like minded, bright, funny, talented people.

 I hope I run into you somewhere down the line.  I love seeing brave homos entering the straight white male driven comedy industry.  Please consider me open and available if you have any more questions.

And hey.  Consider taking my musical improv class.


Spicy Mexican Hot Chocolate Pie

This is Dan Paul Roberts.  He’s a gay recording artist and sex symbol.

He wanted to make a pie.

I wanted to perfect the Mexican Hot Chocolate Pie that I took to B.D. Wong’s New Year’s Party.

Boom.  I just named dropped.  It was fun.

You should try it.

Name dropping is the funnest, most bestest thing in the world, except for pooping.

Everyone knows that pooping is the greatest human pleasure.  Duh.

Dan Paul came over late last night.  We whipped up a crust and then blind baked it.

He told me how he moved to the city, and formed a band called She Dick.

They took the downtown scene by storm, and they garnered a following.

Him:  I feel good about life.  I’m not doing She Dick anymore, but I’m working on an album with people I love and respect a lot and it’s going well.  I want to do mainstream gay pop.  The time has come for gay pop stars to start infiltrating the pop culture.

Me:  As part of our evil agenda – I agree.

Him:  Exactly. 

Me:  Well.  There’s Adam Lambert.


Him:  Yes.  Him.  (pause) Well, I’d like to do it differently.

Me:  He does seem like he’s being misdirected by someone.  Maybe his manager.

Him:  Who knows?

We tempered the chocolate and added it to the creamed butter/sugar mixture.

Then we whipped in two raw eggs, one at a time, for about five minutes each.

Then I spiced that shit RIGHT.

Cayenne pepper, cinnamon, and smoked Hungarian paprika.  Fuck yeah.

Him:  I was trying to have a relationship for a minute, with a sweet, enigmatic, kind boy.  But he wouldn’t have any of me.

Me:  Ha.  Sounds familliar.

Him:  Now I think of my life as building a family.  I’m building a family of people around me whom I love and support.  Some of them I have ongoing physical relationships with, some not.  I love my friends like family.

Me:  Brothers.

Him:  What?

Me:  I have brotherly feelings for a lot of the Gays in my life.  It’s a good feeling to take emotional responsibility for someone else.  Not in a controlling way.  Just in a supportive way.

Him:  Interesting.  Brotherhood. 

Me:  It’s important.  The rest of the world hates us.  We only have each other.

Him:  Is that true?  Does the rest of the world hate us?

Me:  Did you grow  up in a world that taught you to be ashamed of yourself?

Him:  Hm.

Him:  I experienced a sexual liberation a while back.

Me:  Oh?  Can you speak to it?

Him:  Yeah.  Well….  I guess it’s just that, I thought – if I’m to be a sex symbol I need to learn how to wield my sexuality.

Me:  Yes.  And how did you learn how to do that?

Him:  A lot of it has to do with eliminating shame.

Me:  I couldn’t agree more.  It’s the weapon they have against us.  They can try to make us ashamed of our unique, glorious sexuality.  But they can only succeed if we let them.

Him:  Right!

We put finely ground coffee beans on top of the whipped cream.

It mixed really well with the spice and the chocolate.

What wonderfully domestic little homos we were.

Please enjoy the Mexican Hot Chocolate Pie.



Him:  I don’t really want to kiss you.  Is that okay?

Me:  What?  No.  No, it’s not okay.  You called me up and asked me to make out with you.

Him:  Yeah, I know.  But I have a cut in my mouth.

Me:  Where?

Him:  My cheek.  I bit my cheek.  It’s not bleeding or anything, but it was sore yesterday and part of today.

Me:  So?

Him:  “So.”  I’m worried about germs.

Me:  Oh shut up.  Kiss me.

Him:  Can we not?

Me:  Yeah.  Fine.

Him:  Can we just get naked and cuddle?

Me:  Yeah. Of course.  You’re beautiful.  You can have whatever you want.  You can have the world.

Him:  I just want to cuddle.

Me:  Sure.  I’ll shut up.

Him:  Yes.  Please.

Me:  You’re supposed to say, no, keep talking.

Him:  Who want’s that? 


Me:  Nobody.  Nobody does.

(pause.  we are in our underwear.  we cuddle)

Him:  What’s different?

Me:  Huh?

Him:  What’s different?  Something changed.  Something shifted.  What happened.

Me:  I don’t know.  Sometimes we’re just different people sometimes.  Sometimes part of me goes away and a different part comes around.


Me:  That sounds stupid.  I don’t know how else to phrase it.

Him:  Can we just have sex?

Me:  Really?

Him:  Maybe not.  Let’s not.  I shouldn’t keep having sex with you.  You can’t commit.

Me:  I can’t commit?  You don’t even like me.  We have an amazing chemistry but if we dated we would argue non stop.

Him:  Why?

Me:  Because you play games.  You say, come make out with me, and then you won’t kiss me.  But then you want to have sex.  But then you don’t.

Him:  I just don’t – I’m a hypochondriac.  I worry about getting diseases.

Me:  This is wonderful.  I come over here and compliment you and cuddle you, and then I leave feeling like bag of Hep C.  Thanks.

Him:  Come on.  It’s not that bad. 

Me:  It’s not.  But it is.  I don’t know.  Maybe you won’t see me for a month or two.

Him:  Are you angry.

Me:  Kind of.  No.

(long pause)

Both:  Jerk.


Hi there, 

just discovered ur website — Mr u re absolutely gorgeous !!)) 
I’m 27 y.o. originally from moscow-russia — a huge fan of cooking.. I spent 5 years studying in London/UK —> moving to NY in a few months_ hope t meet u there one day!) 
Keep doing what u re doing .. so sexy btw.. )) 
s y 
Thanks.  What can I say?  You’re nice.  And cute.
We can work on your grammar when you get here, but please look me up.
So after reading about ur annoying date I was wondering ur views on age gaps between people, does age really effect relationship possibilities? (ex: 18 guy with a older man age range 26-30)

And what really makes a guy attractive? how are you so god damn irresistible? 🙂
My view on age gaps?
They’re annoying.
You have more (or less) life experience than the other person.  That creates a perspective discrepancy.  The younger person feels patronized and the older person feels like they’re playing a waiting game.  It’s awful.
Even so, isn’t it great to have a younger/older BF?  Aren’t there perks?  Shouldn’t you give it a shot?  Why not?  Go for it.  Also, beware.
What really makes a guy attractive?  Confidence in his vulnerability.  A guy who knows his fears and is still confident about life.    That’s the hottest thing.  Also a good butt.

Why am I so irresistible?  I’m not.  Plenty of people turn me down.  I can thank my parents for good genes, but I’m a walking nightmare of a person.  So many precious eccentricities.  Ugh.

Still, thanks for saying such nice things.  It was nice to hear.


Mango Cherry Pie

Him:  What are you making?

Me:  Mango Cherry Pies.

Him:  No kidding.

Me:  That’s right.  They’re going to be yummy.  And YOU’RE going to get some.

Him:  Yay.  I don’t like pastries, though.

Me:  Just pretend you’re excited?

Him:  Im so excited.

Me:  Wasn’t that guy a jerk?  At the bar?

Him: What was he saying?  Sometimes I just smile at people and tune out. 

Me:  He was making stupid ching-chong jokes.

Him:  Oh, no!  What was he saying?

Me:  He said he’d see you soon because he was going to Ruby Foo’s tomorrow for lunch.  I should have said that you’d probably see him twice, since it looks like he eats lunch twice every day.

Him:  That’s funny. 

Me:  I try not to make fat jokes.  They strike me as dated, somehow.

Him:  Wait, he’s assuming I work at Ruby Foo’s, because I’m Asian?  That’s insulting.

Me:  He thinks it was funny.

Him:  Doesn’t sound funny to me.

Me:  Me either.  He’s pretty funny, when he’s not hammered.  I have to see him all the time. He’s a nice guy, but he has these…  moments…   He thinks he’s being funny.  People are ass wipes when they’re drunk.

Him:  That’s what he was doing?  He was making Asian jokes? 

Me:  Yeah.  He said that I was only hanging out with you to make my penis look bigger.

Him:  Oh no!  Is that true?

Me:  Only partially.  I like you a lot too.

Him:  Moron. 

Me:  NO IT’S NOT TRUE.  You’re super good looking, kid.  That guy’s a jealous bozo.  Your penis is perfect.


How much of the conversation did you miss?  Wow you were really zoned out.  Did you catch what happened at the end, when I grabbed your shoulder?

Him:  Oh!  When you said ‘Go ahead – make three more obnoxious jokes, but make them good,’ or whatever?

Me:  ‘Make them the best jokes ever!  Really enjoy yourself!’  Yeah.  I wanted to see him squirm.  There’s a part of him that knows that he’s being ugly, when he does that.  He was wasted.  I also wanted him to see that he hadn’t phased me in the least.

Him:  Fuck him.  I would have slapped him.

Me:  Well I’m glad you didn’t hear it, then.  We run in the same circles.  I have to deal with him.  He was wasted.  The very last thing he did was drop a shot all over the ground.  He has his moments.  He can be nice.  Why am I defending him?

Him: Yeah.  I don’t usually let people get to me, but there was this guy who said my friend had a cheap bag tonight.  I wouldn’t let him off the hook for it. OH NO. 

Me:  What

Him:  Then there was that homeless man.

Me:  I know.  Right afterward.  That was bad timing.

Him:  I’m just realizing.  He meant me, too.  He gave you all those compliments and then said you needed to upgrade the man though. 

Me:  I found that really strange.

Him: That’s why you told him to can it and knock it off.  It’s just dawning on me.  He meant me.

Me:  Yeah.  Why did you think I was yelling at a homeless man? Oh man.  You really were in and out of the evening huh?

Him:  I guess so. 

Me:  Oh.  You’re wasted, aren’t you?  You drank a lot before you came to meet me at the bar.

Him:  I had my share of drinks. 

Me:  You’re clobbered.

Him:  I’m not.

Me:  Doesn’t matter.  You’re beautiful and sweet.  You have self respect and you’re kind to other people.  Let’s just make these pies. Mango and cherry have a way of baking together to taste like Peach.

Him: Thanks.  You’re okay. 

Me:  Thanks.  So are you.


Also.  You’re wasted.

(pause,  then a big smile.)



Him:  Well.  It’s good to finally meet you.

Me:  Yeah, we’ve been talking online for what?  Few months?

Him:  Yeah.  Few months. 

Me:  I tend to do that.

Him:  Really?  That seems like a lifetime for me.

Me:  Oh, no.  I tend to do that a lot.  I talk to people for a long while before meeting up.

Him:  Why??

Me:  Because it’s the Internet and people are weirdos and I’m busy and some people are drug addicts.  If you talk to people for an extended while, you can draw a bead on what they’re like as a person.  They eventually let their flaws slip, and you can decide whether you want to meet them for real.  Whether you can accept and love their flaws…

Him:  What are my flaws?

Me:  I don’t want to do this.

Him:  No really!  I wanna know how I come off on Grindr.

Me:  Uh…  You’re pushier and more demanding that I’d like you to be.


Him:  What does that mean?

Me:  It means you like to txt me at 2:30 am demanding pie and sex.

Him:  I think that’s funny.

(pause, he lifts my shirt up to check to see what my stomach looks like)

Me:  Classy move.

Him:  OMG let’s get some shots!  Sugarland is lame.

Me:  No.

Him: Why not??

Me: Because I’ve already been to college.  I don’t want to get wasted.  I have to teach tomorrow.

Him:  I’m on my fourth drink.  Do you like your students?

Me:  Very much, yes.  They’re bright and buoyant.

Him:  What??

Me:  Light hearted.  Good spirited.  I feel lifted up.

Him:  Well do a shot with me and they won’t know if you’re hungover tomorrow.

Me:  No.  Thanks.

Him:  You suck.  You’re no fun.

Me:  I know that to be true.  You’re right.

Him:  Let’s smoke a cigarette. 

Me:  I don’t smoke.

Him:  What were you doing outside earlier?

Me:  I have to get away from the music and cool off sometimes.  I’ll come with you to smoke.

(we push through the crowd and out to the back of Sugarland)

Him:  You look good for 40.

Me:  Oh my God thank you!!!  You’re sweet.  I’m not 40.  Not even close.

Him:  Well you look good.

Me: Thanks.  You’re saying all the right things.

Him: How come you never brought me a pie?

Me: Are you kidding?

Him:  No.  Why didn’t you bring me one?

Me: Um.  Because??

Him:  Because why?

Me:  Seriously?  You’re serious?

Him:  Yeah.  I want you to come over with pie.  Are you going to make fun of that?

Me:  I think I am.

Him:  Why?

Me:  Because.  You text me at 2:30 am, asking for pie, and making requests.  We’ve never met before, and you want Strawberry pie at 2:30 am.  But you’re way too lazy to come get it.  You want it delivered.

Him:  You live in Brooklyn.  I can’t go to Brooklyn, I live in Manhattan.


Me:  Do you ever listen to yourself when you talk?

Him:  What do you mean?

Me:  Nothing. Okay.  So you want me to make you Strawberry Pie and deliver it to you in Manhattan at 2:30 am, randomly, whenever the whim strikes you to txt me.

Him: You make it sound selfish. 

Me: Don’t I?  (pause)  Do you realize, even, that it takes 4 hours to make a pie?

Him:  No.  You make it look easy on the site.

Me:  Right.  Well, nobody wants to attend a site about how grueling it is to make a pie and why you shouldn’t do it.

Him:  Why are you so old?  Do you want to be 40?

Me:  Yes.  Very much.  I very much want to be 40.  And 50.  And 60.  Why do you keep calling me 40 when you know I’m younger than that?

Him:  Because you won’t make out with me.

Me:  Ah.  So it’s punishment?

(lifts my shirt again to look at my stomach)

Him:  Let’s have a shot.

Me: No.

Him:  You’re no fun.

Me:  I’m watching the guy who asked me on a date here take my friend home.

Him:  Oh.  You’re on a date?

Me:  Yeah, when you txted me ‘are you at Sugarland,’ you didn’t specify if I was alone.

Him:  Well you said you were here.

Me:  Yes, and here I am.

Him: How old are you?

(lifts my shirt)

Me: You must be kidding, right? You’re joking.

Him:  No.  Oh no.  Don’t be sad.


Me:  My date just left with my wing man.  They’re going to go home together.

Him:  That seems unfair.

Me:  Why?  Because I like them both and they both like each other more than they like me?  Maybe it’s slightly unfair, but as my mother would say, you can’t interfere with chemistry.  People who like each other, like each other.  But yes.  It sucks.  For me.  For them it’s great.


Him:  Oh.  Well…  are we gonna go to have some private time?

(a long pause.  i think about how to phrase this:)

Me: We’re not…  No offense.  You’re cute.  But I don’t think there’s chemistry.

Him:  But, you’re so much older than me.

Me: I know.

Him:  You shouldn’t be turning me down.

Me:  I know.

Him:  How can this be?

Me:  I guess somewhere inside me…  I guess some part of me…  I must be 40.

(long pause)