The Truth About Dating Significantly Younger Women

(Hey, my sister gave me that scarf for Christmas!)

OPINION: Twenty-eight-year-old Lady Kitty Spencer, Diana, Princess of Wales’s niece, has been seen strolling through the streets of New York with her arm draped around the shoulder of her 60-year-old boyfriend, fashion millionaire Michael Lewis.

It’s the first public acknowledgment that she is indeed with a man twice her age, a man who is even older than her own father, Earl Spencer, 54.

Romantics will say, why shouldn’t they date? After all, age is just a number. To which cynics like me will retort: yeah, a big zero!

For having dated women much younger than me – the biggest gap was 25 years – I hope Mr Lewis won’t mind me offering a little bit of caring and concerned advice: don’t do it!

Lady Kitty Spencer, 28, has just gone public with her romance with her 60-year-old boyfriend.

The pleasures of dating young women like Kitty Spencer are pretty obvious from an older male perspective: youth, beauty, and sexiness. But often, young women are just arm candy; visual Viagra for the older, sagging male ego.

Of course, we older men never admit that preferring to claim that they are “terrific fun” and “terribly bright” – even when they’re thick as two planks.

But what are the pitfalls of dating young women for the older man?

I gave up going out on dates with young women when I turned 50. (I’m 64 now.) There’s something I call the “yuck factor”; that is, the spectacle of an older man trying to woo or seduce a young woman is just a bit… yucky.

Is this pure ageism? Perhaps. My dad was always chasing young women – actually, he was always chasing any woman with a pulse – so I swore I would never be that way.

There are more practical and rational reasons why I gave up dating young women. They’re a bloody nightmare to go out with.

Many years ago I squired a woman 19 years younger than me who worked in PR. She would always turn up late for dinner – saying: “Sorry, I’m such a flake!” – and then spend ages on her phone: “Sorry, I need to get this…” In the middle of my funniest anecdote, she’d tell me: “Sorry, I need to just send this one text.” Eventually, I said: “Sorry, this isn’t working!”

I know men are from Mars, but what planet are young women from?

You send them a beautifully crafted love letter and they send you a text consisting of three Xs and three heart emojis. (And they say romance is dead.)

I had a brief fling with a young woman who was an aspiring novelist and 20 years younger than me. I would bring her flowers and champagne; she would bring me her best gay friend and her dog.

Princess Diana’s niece Lady Kitty Spencer, 28, and 60-year-old $100m fashion tycoon go public with their romance. One of the biggest gaps between older men and younger women is not just age, but culture. They don’t get your references. Classic lines from Casablanca are greeted with silence or puzzlement; when a young woman asked me if Gone with the Wind was a rom-com, I knew we were in trouble.

Unlike Michael Lewis and other men of his kind, I never felt comfortable indulging in public displays of affection with a young woman. I tried it once and got age-shamed. We’d had a few cocktails in Soho and out on the street I was staring into my date’s eyes, getting ready for that first kiss, when a voice cried out: “Go on, Grandad, give ‘er one for me!”

Funny how little helpful comments like that can kill the moment.

That sad little story raises the biggest obstacle of all: sex. You can be a rich, powerful, successful older man that beautiful young women adore – but naked, you’re just another old bloke with chin wobble, belly spread, and buttocks that hang like drooping breasts.

There was a hilarious episode of Sex and the City when Samantha was dating a very rich 70-year-old man who plied her with diamond jewelry. She claimed that it was just as easy to have sex with an older man as a young man – if the lights were out. Everything was going fine for Samantha until her lover went to the loo and she spotted his backside… and she took instant flight.

I was told by the author Dolly Alderton that a man should always “carry his naked body” – no matter how old or fat – “with confidence”, because, she claimed, it was “so terribly sexy!”

I tried that once. My young companion took one look at the naked me and suggested we watch telly instead.

There are young women who actually prefer older men. Kitty Spencer’s last boyfriend, another rich chap, was older than her, too.

Catherine Zeta-Jones and Michael Douglas have clearly found a way to make it work.

When I went out with younger women, I always wondered: are they really into me, or do they just have daddy issues? By that I mean they want from older men the love and admiration they never got from their fathers.

I’m not saying the age gap can’t be overcome. Harrison Ford was 38 years older than Calista Flockhart when they first dated, and Michael Douglas was 56 when he hooked up with 31-year-old Catherine Zeta-Jones – and both couples are still going strong.

So, good luck to Kitty and Michael – they’re going to need it. Me, I’m just glad my days of dating much younger women are over.

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Wildwood Daze – 1980 – Joette and Lola

16 year old Joette Carty and yours truly in 1980.

God… I never realized how good looking I was back then.

I’m the rhythm guitarist for the the Union Jacks. I’m in relationship with a 14-year-old girl and then I meet Joette.

Anne lives in Newark and I met her at the and of the summer when things were slim.I  was desolate. She was hot, young, and available.

you thought she was 16.

I always had a thing for long-legged Joette. The flautist that liked Niel Diamond and Barry Manilow. You knew that those guys were brilliant but my life was Aerosmith.

It’s the dead of winter. I’m in this band, but trapped in a high school where I know like one guy. And he’s in my band! I see this one girl wo’s in the school band, named Joette. She’s tall, pretty and blonde.

I loved that back then. Now I like more ethnic looking women, but that’s probably because I live in  city. There is so many different kind of beauty here in Philly.

The song says: “If you can’t be with the one you love… Love the one you’re with.”

My little girlfriend, Lola was in Newark, NJ. Joette was here. Live and present.

I liked tall, blonde long-legged women back then. I loved ex ex ex girlfrind Michelle and she had lovely legs when I knew her.

But Lola wan’t around and I’m stuck in this desolate shithole of a town and I start crushing on Joette.

Look at the photo. I was a good-looking guitarist in a local band and she was a musician too. We had different tastes in music but come on… You know it’s going down in Wildwood.

So we hook up.  She seems nice. Her mom seems nuts. Her parents are divorced. My drummer Brian tells me he went to high school with her crazy brother Joe.

Her mom is on a bureau drawer amount of pills, and Brian tells me her brother Joe once took his belt off and beat a teacher in class once before being kicked out of school.

Yea… she’s hot. This’ll be good.

It actually was. Her mom kept her little helpers in check and liked me. Her crazy brother actually liked me too because he said I was the first nice guy that was good to his sister.

That was a nervous moment.

Joette and I were and item through the cold desolate winter that year and i enjoyed my time with her. I still saw Lola when she came down but Joette was my constant local main squeeze.

I just loved her because she had long legs and she was built like a woman. Tall and lovely.

Great flute player.

Totally different from what I did at the time.

 

Spring rolled around and I was pretty wrapped up in Joette. I rmember my mom telling me that Lola was on the phone and wanted to talk to me.

The summer was about to break and that is an exciting time. You as a native are going to crawl out of the horrible darkness of the winter and stand in the sun again on a warm sunny beach. Surrounded by friends and new talent.

Living in Wildwood in the winter is like being lost at sea at night for months. The cold lonely nights. The isolation. The depression. The beauty of the place that feels like a windy prison.

It’s awful. I wouldn’t wish it on any child. resort towns need to be a summer fun spot to be enjoyed but the rest of the year is terrible for its youth.

It’s like any podunk shit town in america.

I’m with Joette now… Lola is on the phone. She says how much she’s looking forward to coming down this summer and us being together and being in a relationship.

“I love you.”

“Uhhh….” ( I can’t do it. I’ve been with Joette all winter thorough the darkness that is this island my sisters and I have been dropped off on.)

“Chaz… do you love me?”

“Ahh…”

So back then at 18 I was pretty much romantically bankrupt. I didn’t know how to compartmentalize like I can now. I was and absolute neophyte when it came to matters of the heart. i was a dumb teen that wanted what he wanted when he wanted it and never thought of the repercussions of my actions.

It’s sad that I couldn’t see that. I simply wanted the thing in front of me now and could no longer think of the little girl who fell in love with me at the end of last summer.

But living in Wildwood and being in a band changes a boy. There’s a certain curse you hold being in that godforsaken town in the winter. If you’ve been following this series, there is something that happens to the youth in this town and you affix to it because you have no other choices.

It’s unhealthy to raise children from the city on an isolated island where nothing is happening.

You did it for yourself dad.  Plus you were already running your program with your hot secretary pool down here sir.

It was a natural progression of you continuing your agenda of inner unhappiness about it affected a few people along the way dude.

It made me cold and calculating in my Romantic life, dad. Passionate like you, but I had the same romantic bankruptcy that you had.

I remember I once asked you… “What if you got a girl pregnant and she had a kid that was yours. What would you do?”

“Well I don’t know that kid and I didn’t raise him so… nothing.”

Okay.

So I’m on the landline in the dining room with my little girlfriend on the phone asking me if I still love her and how much she wants to be with me and I’m ambiguities.

That’s cold.

I remember doing that to Lola.

That was shitty.

I’m not a good person in this moment.

I have my band which is rocking. I have established my place here as someone. I have a hot blonde girlfriend. The summer is approaching. I know what the summer looks like here.

Non stop fun and gorgeous teenage girls I want to spend time with. I will meet them and love them as they arrive in droves. Literally delivered to me after this horrible winter of discontent.

I mis my life and friends in Philly. I have been banished from all that i know, but the fun is returning.

Any minute now.

It’s June. I’m going to graduate high school.

All I want to do is have fun and play guitar in a band.

I want to be Joe Perry.

Lola is crying on the phone. I can’t commit to this summer being her boyfriend.

I felt nothing, selfish juvenile cunt that I was back then.  (look at the photo)

We hung up and I knew it was over. But i didn’t care. i was glad i didn’t have to deal with her anymore.

I just wanted to work at Hunt’s Pier and play in my band and go to clubs and have fun.

I was just a typical asshole guy I suppose. I hurt a young girl’s heart and didn’t feel a thing, too self-absorbed in my own success.

But I will tell you… when you pull shit like this no matter what your age, you leave a hole. You will trip over that hole later in life and have to somehow fill it in and fix that hole.

Because although you put a whole in a person, you left a hole in yourself.

You will have to fix that son.

 

Lola was heartbroken and found solace in my lead guitarist Jim. Classic. I can’t have Chaz, so I’ll be with his best friend. I never gave a shit after that, because I was emotionally bankrupt. I’m sure Jim never enjoyed her at the level i did.

Oh, and Joette. With in a week after dumping Lola and the summer exploding in full swing… I dumped Joette too.

The shark needs to swim. Great White needs to hunt. It’s the summer of 1980 and the island is on fire.

 

 

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Wildwood Daze – Winter of 1979 – Instant Band (with No Name!)

That’s me at age 17 playing my new Ibanez Iceman guitar.

 

I have abandoned my initial effort to start a band with Jim and Chris. I met this clown Ron in art class. He knows of a working band that need a rhythm guitarist. I want that gig.

I meet with them. The bass player Mark’s parent’s own an Italian restaurant up on New York avenue. It’s a good spot in the summer but closed in the

winter like every thing else in this god forsaken town that I now hate.

Mark Piro playing a blonde Fender Precision Bass

I enter the restaurant with my new guitar and meet the guys. They seem cool, and I’m thinking here I go again. Me inserting myself into an already established group. They tell me they just want to fatten their sound.

The furniture and tables in the dining room have been cleared out and there’s a great space for us to jam. There isn’t anything around us neighbor-wise to disturb so we can rock out. We chat and I get to know the guys. Jesse is the lead guitarist. He seems like a sweet, nice kid. Tall with brown hair. Goes to Wildwood Catholic. Mark, the bass player, whose folks own the restaurant and he lives in Wildwood Crest. So he’s from money and attends Wildwood High like me. He’s a year younger so he’s a junior. 11th grade. Brian, the drummer is clearly the leader of this band. He is a little tough Scottish dude. Apparently his mom is a sweet woman who works at the library here in town and my dad knows her. So that’s an in.

They play a few songs for me to show who they are.

I am amazed.

This band is light years ahead of anything I did with Renegade back in Philly. The songs are tight. The playing is spot on and the solos are exact.

I can’t believe I’m standing in the same room with these guys.

Mark                                                                                                       Me                     Brian 

But their stuck. They need something else. I tell them I write songs and they like that. I dig that they are receptive to that because that’s what I want to do.

Mark                                                                             Me with a bad haircut

I jam a little with them and it sounds good. I throw out a few licks from some Zep songs I know that they aren’t currently performing, It makes an impression with them. I knew it would. I have been practicing songs non stop ever since I picked up the Silvertone back in Philly. I’m so hungry. I think Brian takes a shine to me because I’m sweet and nice. I am not a person that threatens his authority. I could sense that was a thing with him. Little man syndrome is rampant in all walks of life. I get it and I’m a good diplomat. He’s a little than the other boys. He’s 21.

Brian Smith

I see a nasty gouge/scratch on Jesse’s Guild guitar.

“Wow sorry man. How’d that happen?”

Brian speaks: “I was trying to talk to someone and Jesse wouldn’t turn his amp down.”

I turn away from Jesse to Brian.

“What happened?”

He wouldn’t turn down his fucking guitar, so I threw a drumstick at him.”

“Okay….”

“He got off easy. I was aiming for his face.”

Jesse said nothing.

 

Brian gives me a set list. It’s great. Cool songs, and this band already rocks without me.

“Learn these songs.”

“Okay.”

I remember going home and locking myself in my room with my records and nearly breaking my fingers to learn all of the songs, chord changes, and time signatures. It was the hardest homework I had ever been assigned in my life.

I came back in a couple of days and we started jamming. It was glorious. Better than anything I could have ever imagined. Here I was exiled to this shitty summer resort/ prison and I was now playing with a band that was awesome!

This group was so many steps ahead of Renegade. We were playing songs from the past that were amazing but we were also working on stuff that was on the radio NOW! I loved that. This band was relevant. I was honored to be here.

Only about nine months out from actually picking up a guitar for the first time and here I was jamming with a bunch of pros! I knew I was born to create and make music and now I was finally able to go forward and rock out! I was scared and ecstatic for the first time. I was stressed because I had to learn so many songs to catch up but I wanted it so bad with these guys I worked my ass off to catch up, This baptism by fire made me a better musician almost immediately.

     Mark                                                                                                                       Me

A leap in evolution. That’s how it happens. You have to adapt to survive. I got better on my new axe and I could feel the surge of great energy happening.

Here we go. Now I’ve got something to live for here in the winter of ’79. Thanks guys!

It was tough but so fun. I would go to school all day, and then come home, do my homework, eat dinner and then head out to practice. It was great. I had purpose again in my life. My mom was happy I wasn’t on drugs, drinking or getting into trouble. I was doing well in school and had a hobby. (My dream!) I don’t remember where my father was during this time. He seems invisible to me.

But my father knew what was going on and was probably happy that I had come out of my cage of depression that he couldn’t understand.

So for Christmas that year he got me this:

 

I nearly came in my pants.

Marshall Amplification is an English company that designs and manufactures music amplifiersspeaker cabinets, brands personal headphones and earphones, and, having acquired Natal Drums, drums and bongos. It was founded by drum shop owner and drummer Jim Marshall, and is now based in BletchleyMilton Keynes, Buckinghamshire.

Marshall’s guitar amplifiers are among the most recognised in the world. They are known for their Marshall “crunch”. This signature sound was conceived by Marshall after guitarists, such as Pete Townshend, visiting Marshall’s drum shop complained that the guitar amplifiers then on the market didn’t have the right sound or enough volume. 

After gaining a lot of publicity, Marshall guitar amplifiers and loudspeaker cabinets were sought by guitarists for this new sound and increased volume.[3][4] Many of the current and reissue Marshall guitar amplifiers continue to use vacuum tubes, as is common in this market sector. Marshall also manufactures less expensive solid-state, hybrid (valve and solid state) and modelling amplifiers.

Kids had Fenders, an Ampegs and Peavey’s. NOBODY had a MARSHALL amp. Marshall is the premier rock star amplifier in the world. My dad got me one. No matter what I’ve ever said about my father in this blog means anything against this moment.

“I’ve been trying to get you worked about something for years, son.”

“Oh my god, dad. I can’t believe it. Thank you. (crying) This is the greatest amp in the world. This what all of the rock stars use. Thank you!”

It was a 100 watt Marshall combo with twin 12 inch Celstion speakers. It was tube driven. No transistors. I know most of you don’t know what that means, but let me put it in terms we can all understand: This Fucking Amp ROARED. Super scary power. Weight. Clarity. And most of all organic mad distortion. This coupled with my pedal would be a force to be reckoned with on this island. Power chords would be played, walls would crumble.

A Marshall is that powerful.

It changed my life.

I’ve now got a rocking band and the best and coolest equipment in the industry. Stardom can’t be far off!

Thank you dad! I love you!

We played this song spot on! Jesse nailed the solo note for note! Wonderful!

Jesse Dean playing a brown Gibson SG

 

We murdered this song too! Again I was amazed listening to Jesse killing the solo. I loved being in this band with no name! But feeling alive again!

 

 

At least I was making music again and further along musically than I’d ever been. I need to survive this ordeal.

 

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Wildwood Daze – Autumn of 1979 – Garage Band in a Shed – Part One

I go back over these memories and I want to write about these moments in my life. But I have found that after writing this blog of over a year and a half I have to dig deep. That does something to you.

Actually two things.

You get the benefit of reliving your youth and the joy of what you once did in a nostalgic way. The other side is what you were going through at the time to make all of that happen. That can be painful, but also joyful. Writing it all down and expressing it does have a cleansing effect. So many people talk about doing it but never make the time.

Because writing is a lonely experience. You have to do it alone. People don’t like that. They like being busy and surrounded by other people to validate their existence.

I no longer need that. I’m not living to acquire possessions or impress anybody. Once you can reach that state, it is somewhat blissful. I like to be alone. But I get my energy from people. I adore the company of delightful women and cool guys. But I have always enjoyed being alone. My father once said, “A man who can sit in a room alone is really at peace.” I’m sure that’s just some shit he read in a book because the man has never had an original thought in his life, but thank you for passing that along Pop. You’re right. Or… They were right.

But that’s how I really feel. It’s really all about the effort. Bands like the B-52’s don’t make it on talent. They made it on originality, fearlessness and going for it. That’s what we all need to do.

It’s so easy to sink into a job under a pile of college debt nowadays. So sad.

Go live your life, people!

I’m writing this story because it needs to be told. It will be on the internet when I’m long dead. But it happened to me, and if it inspires one person then it’s been worth it.

As I write I listen to an internet radio station. I love Pandora, but Tune In Radio Classic Rock is so much better! Check it out! They really got it together! Promise.

 

Jim and I meet up. He’s a nice guy. He’s deep and sensitive. Not like his goofy band mates in the Tom Danning band. Interesting side note here, Tom Danning’s dad was in a band called Dickie Do and the Don’ts and that name in itself makes me want to put a pistol in my mouth, but I digress. Who cares. They suck. Jim wants to rock. I want that too.

I invite him over to jam in our shed. Yea. The basement of the Philly house died with my first band Renegade. My first band and love had been cut from me by my father because he decided to uproot us from Lawndale and toss us all into the shore house.  April and Gabrielle have been dropped off at Margaret Mace, the local public grade school and I’ve been tossed into Wildwood fucking High for my Senior Year.

It’s a nightmare, but my previous chapter has clearly illustrated my experience. So we’ll move on.

Jim and I are in a shed. Not a garage. A shed. It’s getting chilly on the cape and we have a space heater out there to generate some warmth. We are surrounded with bicycles, lawnmowers, brooms, rakes, shovels and other garden equipment. It sucks ass.

But Jim and I jam together. He’s a good guitar player. Taken lessons. Can play lead. I like him. We jam out some Creem and Eric Clapton and some Beatles. It’s rough but I’m just happy to be playing with somebody.

Something to do.

Some sort of direction.

Something.

Jim is mature for his age. I don’t know exactly where he is in the birthing order in his family. But I learn that he is from an Italian Catholic family of a dozen children.

I’m blown away by this number. What kind of reckless fucking do you have to have to birth that many kids? Apparently his mother is pregnant again with their 13th child.

I’m shocked and amazed at this story but I can only think of his mother being in gestation for nine years straight most of her adult life. I also think that at this point his dad banging her is like throwing a hotdog down a hallway. (Sorry Jim. I love you and it’s funny!)

We’re jamming out and realize we should probably put a band together. He likes the idea that I write original songs and we work on them too. All I have at this point is “Get Lost” the punk song about that little dick teaser from Philly, Therese, about my obviously love, and a new one about Farrah Fawcett called “Bombshell.”

I like Jim. I start to like him like a best friend. He’s sensitive and deep. I’ve always gravitated to young people. I feel safe with them. Jim was a good guy. He was my only friend in Wildwood. He understood the desolation of the town in the winter. We had each other. Even though he came from a huge family I know Jim felt some of the same isolation I felt from my family and the world and especially high school.

I found a friend!

School was okay. It was easy. I was making second honors by the midterm. I used to joke that we were studying high-speed skipping and underwater basket weaving at Wildwood High.  When anyone outside of the shore found out I was going there they thought it was a joke. Because it was!

One day at lunch time I went outside and smoked a cigarette. I was stopped by a member of faculty and I told them I was new and didn’t know the rules. He simply told me to go across the street and do it. I complied.

We needed a drummer and a bass player if we wanted to get a band going. The town was so small how would we find anyone?

Well, we were going to find out…

 

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Wildwood Daze – Winter of 1979 – Time With My Only Friend

“A selfish unforgiving decision had been made against my life.”

Jim and I remained friends. I would walk up to his house at 19th and Central Aves. every morning and we would walk to school together. We were close. I always felt a deep connection with Jim.

There was nothing open in Wildwood in 1979 after the season ended. I have no idea what the kids did here when not in school. I did notice a high level of drinking, drug use and teen pregnancy. So it was basically like living in an affluent rural area. An odd dichotomy.

School was going well for both of us. Me the fresh transplant from Philly, and him out of middle school and now in high school. Jim never felt younger to me. He always felt like a mature thoughtful, brooding equal.

We would just walk the streets at night of this resting resort town that felt like a ghost town to me for the first time. I had only known Wildwood as a full on circus every summer. This was its dark underbelly. A lonely empty place. We both did the best we could on this deserted island.

In the windy nights on the Cape we really got to know each other. We’d frequent the local haunts. There was a pizza place at 15th and New Jersey Aves. that was open all year round. We’d eat slices and drink sodas there. We’d go to the bowling alley. There was place called the Sundance around 26th and New Jersey Aves. Kids would gather there and eat and sip sodas. At least it was warm. Something to do.

We never bowled there, we’d just sit and talk and look at girls.  Sometimes we’d end up at the 7 Eleven downstairs and talk to some weird clerk there we named Scoodly because that was entertaining to a couple of teenage boys. He was a bit eccentric and we got a kick out of him. But it always felt good to get a frozen soft pretzel from the freezer and pop it into the microwave. A sweet reminder of my lost city of Philadelphia.

My greatest memories of hanging with Jim in the dead of winter back then in this godforsaken wasteland was at that very bowling alley. We’d sneak into the little lounge they had there. There was always a live band playing in there and it was fun to watch older guys and girls play. We were just so fascinated by live music and bands that were working and do it.

We’d slip in and check out the latest band playing top 40. The music was not what we were into but it at least felt like something we were interested in. Sometimes we’d last longer than other times. I was 17. Jim was 15. But he looked older. The drinking age in Jersey back then was 18. Unbelievable by today’s standards. But I looked so young with my baby face but Jim could pull it off. We’d get a few beers and watch the set and do our best to be cool and hang in, but there was always that point after about two beers we’d be suspect.

I’d get tossed first and then they’d ask Jim for ID and he couldn’t provide either so out we’d go.

But we’d always go back because we wanted to see live music, and there was NOTHING in Wildwood to do in the winter back then. It was a horrible place to live as a teenager. A selfish unforgiving decision had been made against my life.

One night we met this guitar player in one of the lounge acts that was playing in that place. He was older but so nice to us. We told him how we were musicians and picked his brain about music. It just felt good to talk to older guys that were doing what we wanted to do. But not exactly.

“Jim, I would rather kill myself than play top 40 in a fucking bowling alley for a living. I want to be a band that plays in big bars and then tours and them makes records.”

“Yea.”

“I just would never want to have to play all of that shit for a living.”

“You need to get a real guitar.”

“What? My shit’s real.”

“It’s a Sears Silvertone kid’s electric guitar, Chaz.”

“Yea but I learned on that. I like it. It has good action.”

“It’s a fucking toy guitar. If you really want to play rock, and you’re serious about this you should get a proper instrument.”

“Alright well. I guess. I could start to look at instruments.”

“I play a Strat. It’s a really good versatile instrument.”

“Yea… your Fender’s awesome. Brown and functional. I think I’d like something a little flashier.”

“Well that’s up to you. It’s your money, but your guitar is shit.”

Yea, I guess you’re right.”

Suddenly we are approached by the bar manager.

“You guys got some ID?”

Jim and I do a simultaneous bottoms up with our beers and run out of the bar laughing.

I’m happy I have a friend and at least I have the bonus of him being a sensitive and funny musician like myself. Musician. Who and I kidding? I’ve only been playing guitar of six months.

But I’m learning fast.

Maybe I need to look at getting a real guitar.

So I can get this dream going….

 

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