So, here I was, contemplating the idea of hitting up a kegger. It was a balmy Saturday afternoon in late October, and while strolling through campus around 4 PM, I noticed fraternity brothers celebrating the end of Spring Fling weekend with kegs prominently placed outside their houses. I’ve always had a soft spot for keg beer; it has this unique flavor that feels like it was drawn straight from the floor after a spill.
Groups of guys were scattered about—athletes, techies, and the classic party boys. There were some handsome fellows in button-down shirts and even better-looking ones in grungy tees and flannel shirts, which happen to be my weakness. So yes, the thought of stopping for a cold one, and whatever might come next, definitely crossed my mind.
But there was just one little obstacle: I could be old enough to be the mother of some of these guys. Okay, maybe not actually, since I was still a virgin when most of them were born, but technically, I could fit the bill. You see, I’m a late bloomer, but let’s just say I could have a kid in college if I had wanted to.
Later, when chatting with a friend about this, she got hung up on what I like to call the “mother-son differential.” We both wondered why guys don’t seem to mind this biological conundrum. Perhaps it’s because men don’t give birth to the girls who could be their daughters (more on that shortly), but for us women, those boys we’re eyeing could have emerged from the very place we’re considering letting them return to. Yeah, that’s a head-scratcher.
Oddly enough, that wasn’t the thing that held me back. At that moment, I didn’t feel like anyone’s mom. I felt like I could totally enjoy a beer with a cute guy. (For the record, I do have two kids, but let’s pretend they’re off living their best lives on a farm somewhere). However, the real kicker was my uncertainty about whether I could pull it off. I mean, I don’t exactly look 19.
I won’t disclose my real age because I still have dreams of returning to campus for a Homecoming someday. Let’s just say I’ve got eye crinkles, dark circles under my eyes, and a few brow furrows. The skin under my chin? Not what it used to be! On the bright side, I was dressed to impress—jeans, a cool untucked shirt, a leather jacket, and a backpack. Thanks to Clairol, my hair is still free of gray. My family has this reputation for looking younger than we are, so maybe there’s hope.
For the record, I wasn’t just lurking around campus. I was there for a panel on nonfiction writing. I just had a bit of time to kill, so sue me!
I now realize I may need to rethink my “free pass.” It used to be for Eddie Vedder or maybe Clive Owen. If either of them were to invite me to their hotel room, I might just consider it, and hey, I think my marriage could handle it. Who wouldn’t want to say they had a fling with someone who was with Eddie Vedder or Clive Owen? But now, I’m starting to think my free pass should be a fraternity guy in a flannel shirt at a kegger, on an unmade futon, with Warren Zevon playing in the background. It’s just a thought, but it seems way more plausible than a celebrity free pass—after all, there are colleges everywhere!
Anyway, back to my moment of clarity on fraternity row. I had a revelation about why some men go for much younger partners. It’s not that these young women make them feel young; they already feel youthful. The urge to pursue has been ingrained in them since their teenage years. They don’t suddenly become more mature at 45!
When they spot a young woman in a bar, they don’t think, “Wow, I’m so much older.” They think, “I want her.” They’re thrown back to high school emotions—the thrill, the hope, and the excitement of it all, combined with a confidence that comes with age and success. Their libido may be 16, but their ego is rocking it in their 40s.
In the end, when faced with a reflection of their youth, it’s a blend of nostalgia and longing; they want to relive those exhilarating days. One of my guilty pleasures now is cruising around my hometown with my husband, pretending he’s the high school boyfriend I never had. I also enjoy rewatching shows like My So-Called Life and Friday Night Lights, which nail the agony of teenage desire. Their portrayal of adult desire might be spot on too, but I’m too busy relating to the teens to care.
Now, don’t get me wrong; I’m not looking for a fling with my alma mater’s lacrosse goalie. It was just a thought that crossed my mind while considering crashing a kegger.
For more insights on parenting and the ups and downs of life, check out this post on our sister blog about intracervical insemination. If you’re curious about fertility, visit Make a Mom for information on at-home insemination kits. Also, don’t miss IVF Babble for a wealth of resources on pregnancy and home insemination.
In summary, the kegger moment got me thinking about youth, desire, and how we often long to revisit those times, even when it feels ridiculous. It’s all part of the beautifully chaotic journey of life.