Context: KA and I were not expecting a late night trip to Duccini’s this past March to turn into the beginning of a sweet love story with a Sugar Daddy. However, if there’s one thing I’ve learned in this dating journey, it’s that you should always expect the unexpected.
It’s no secret that every betch in her right mind wants a sugar daddy.
I mean, you want to pay me oodles of money for, like, talking to you and getting dinner with you and maybe doing weird sex things (it happens) but like you might die soon? And you don’t know how to use social media whatsoever so you can’t post any pictures of us doing aforementioned things? And if my parents ask I can just tell them I’m volunteering with my local ‘Adopt-a-Grandparent’ initiative? Sign me up!
The problem that is posed, then, is finding a sugar daddy. Sure, I could go seek out the OG – Hugh Hefner – but I’m not sure I want to leave behind my life in DC to go live in a mansion full of women who are hotter than me. That actually sounds like my personal definition of hell, now that I think about it.
Then, there are the websites. Right. But I’ve already been catfished once by someone my own age – why would I sign myself up for the potential disappointment of being catfished by a geriatric specimen? No, these are the big leagues, ladies. We need to think outside the box. Enter – fate. Let’s take a trip back in time.
The year was 2017. Early March, to be precise. KA and I had become friends via the powers of Bumble BFF just a week prior, and we were embarking on our first weekend raging together. This began with a trip to Saufhaus, where we drank giant beers and convinced some guy we were lesbians and tantalized him with the concept of a threesome so he would buy us drinks. Ah, the joys of womanhood.
From there, we moved on to Buffalo Billiards, Rakuya, and a pregame at my place before descending upon Policy. From Policy we hopped up to Johnny Pistola’s, where we flirted aggressively with bartenders for free drinks until our eyes drooped and our stomachs rumbled. We knew it was time.
Time for Duccini’s.
We headed down 18th Street to Ye Mecca of Jumbo Slice and were impatiently waiting for our souvlaki, swatting off drunken asshole dudes, when a shout arose.
Strange Old Man – DOES ANYONE HERE HAVE TIES TO WISCONSIN?!
We looked about. No one seemed to be reacting, too caught up in their own dairy-laden stupor to pay attention to this bizarre request. Curious, I raised my hand high.
J – My best friend lives in Madison?
At this, the man’s eyes lit up, and he bounded over to where KA and I stood.
SOM – OMG! I live in Madison! I’m visiting here for a conference and I just want to make friends and so I told my Uber driver that if he stopped for me to get pizza I’d get him one too!
J – Cool! Want to come to brunch with us tomorrow?
KA – Do you wanna take a selfie?
So, with that, we were taking a selfie with a strange man from Wisconsin, in addition to getting his cell phone number and business card so we could coordinate brunch plans. According to his business card his name was G and he was, indeed, from Madison, Wisconsin. I texted G to give him brunch time and place. This would be phenomenal.
The next morning, we still had no word from G, so KA and I started texting Bumble and Tinder Social randos* to tell them to meet us at Trio at 1 PM. Apparently people had ‘plans’ and ‘couldn’t make it to Dupont in the next minute’, so we arrived with a few other friends and dug into our bottomless mimosas and rail drinks. A dangerous combination, yes; we live life on the edge.
*One of whom was Daddy, our brunch partner the next weekend and the potential father of my thank-god-nonexistent child.
Post-brunch and post-making our waitress absolutely despise our entire friend group’s existence, KA, Baby Thot and I headed back to my place to lay on the ground and wallow in our champagne comas. We were mid-wallow when I received a FaceTime from G. I excitedly announced what was going on to KA and Baby Thot, then we gathered ’round my phone and talked to our potential benefactor.
G – Hey ladies! Sorry I couldn’t make it to brunch, I needed to head to a few museums so I felt cultured. What are you all doing now?
J – We’re just hanging out in my house!
G – Awesome! Want to grab some drinks?
Done. And. Done. We made plans to meet at Mission in ~10 minutes, then hurriedly pulled ourselves together and headed over. G texted me that he was there, and I told him to grab a table and a pitcher of margs. He obliged. You’re wonderful, G.
We shared 3 pitchers of margs and 1 pitcher of beer as we talked, and G was so fun – never married, the sweetest guy, 43 years old, RICH, buying us drinks – all the important things in life. We finally reached the end of our “date” and Baby Thot, KA and I had to head to dinner with my friend and two random Tinder Social dudes we had convinced to meet up with us. We made a random passerby snap a picture of us, then sent G on his merry way back to Wisconsin as we blacked out with randos at El Tamarindo.
Flash forward a month or so. KA and I are grabbing dinner at Lauriol Plaza (what’s new) when G shoots her a text out of the blue.
G – You are so vibrant, young, and sexy! I hope you’re not waiting for me! You can have any man you want!
KA – Haha, thanks, G!
G – I showed my coworkers this photo of us and they also think you’re beautiful!
With that, he sent over the photo of us from Mission, but he had cropped me and Baby Thot out. You could only see our arms. THIS WAS CREEPY AS FUCK.
KA – What do I do?!?!?!
J – Give me the phone.
We headed back to my place and I spent the next hour on speakerphone with G, pretending to be KA, while she rolled on the floor in uncomfortable, cringe-y silent laughter. During this time, we uncovered that:
– G had “only had eyes for KA” the whole time we were together;
– He had been “trying to look down her shirt” the whole time as well;
– He did not remember Baby Thot’s name at all even though we had spent several hours together and mentioned her name several times throughout the call;
– And, given the chance, he would love to sleep with KA. Yep, dude has no subtext. It’s all text. Text in capital letters.
Maybe having a sugar daddy isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. We ended the situation, and his texts to KA gradually slowed to where they are today – the occasional smiley face, or a casual “do you have any weddings coming up in the midwest that I can be your date to?” You know, standard talking points between a 43 year old man and his 24 year old love interest.
We still text him every time we’re at beerfest and see a sign for cheese curds.
I just need a sugar daddy who doesn’t want to hook up or talk or have literally any contact whatsoever. Now, is that too much to ask for?