Grow Up

Hef/confused old man    Source: Google Images

It astounds me as of late how the physical and mental ages of people (read: guys) around me don’t add up. Trying to crunch the numbers is futile. Toilet humor + bad table manners + phrase T-shirts + no money = 22 years old? More like 14. Or how about noncommittal + partier + the Fade Out = 33?! I could go on. Please don’t make me.

In ancient times (and modern day places—really anywhere but Southern California), the tribes would be furious. How will the race continue if the men don’t recognize their role as the provider and choose a mate? This is troubling for those of us who would like to marry before the ripe ol’ age of 50 (which is when, it seems, the men folk have decided to settle down). We won’t look good then, guys! Even with Botox. (I should say even without Botox. Who’re you fooling, Steven Tyler? And yes, I’m grouping him with the women.)

So how did we go from hunter-gatherer single-family units to open relationships, life-long bachelors and sister-wives? 

Personally, I would like to blame Adult Swim. Not only does every show SUCK except for Family Guy (clearly that show promotes old school family values like communicating with your children, even your baby, and maintains that marriage is important in a culture that says otherwise), but it has officially sanctioned adult men to watch cartoons. Just because they’re edgy and late night doesn’t mean they’re cool, guys! You don’t see people watching that Ferguson guy. What’s his name? Craig? I’ve lost interest.

Let’s take a look at the CDC's stats on the matter. In the most recent data (2009), 2,077,000 people married. Approximately 10 years ago (1991) 2,371,000 married. 10 years before that (1981), 2,438,000 married. For the most part, marriages generally increased year over year until the 90s. Yes, people. OUR generation. I mean, is it really surprising? The clothing of the 90s was so androgynous nobody could tell who was a man or a woman. Hey, you in the flannel shirt and baggy jeans! OH. Hey, Jessica. (In case anyone was wondering, Jessica was the number one baby name of the 80s.)

Yes, these stats don’t specify men or women, but there is only one gender that looks at wedding magazines, picks out dresses early on and likes interior decorating. Christopher Lowell aside, it’s the girls who appear to be more marriage-oriented. The men are coming up in here with their cartoons and their bachelorhood and stomping all over our biological clocks. Ouch, men. Ouch.

Whoa…okay, this blog got away from me for a minute. Let me state a few facts for the record. I, blogger extraordinaire, do not think all men act like children. I am also not ready for marriage at age 23. However, I do believe that we are letting the appropriate settling-down age slip further and further through our hands, and an unwillingness to grow up is spurring this on.

So let’s say we all just say whatevs and live for today, settling down be damned. Aside from the cease of procreation and the end of the human race (barely worth acknowledging), or a human race comprised of single-parent, only-child children (NO thanks—social awkwardness would run rampant), we’d all have one thing to look forward to. HEF. Yes, Hugh Hefner. (What’s that you say? He did marry? OH yes, I’m sure his secretary wife enjoyed her tax breaks while Hef was out with other women.) I’m sure in today’s world some people think his life is pretty great, but I think I’ll pass on the limp, overcooked gray slab of mystery meat. I mean, please. No amount of money. If he was a grandpa like he should be, he could be cute and drooly, but as it stands he is gross. Gross, gross, grosss. 

And there you have it, the future of promiscuity as it is today. Crumpled Kleenexes and baby oil. (Sorry, Gawker forced me to read this quote from Holly Madison and I couldn’t be the only one. Just be glad I didn’t link it.) SAVE YOURSELF WHILE YOU STILL CAN.