I understand you’re hot for teacher, or at least older woman, and as much as I would love to be your Mrs. Robinson, I just can’t.
You see, there comes a time in a girl’s life when she must realize that dating a person who has to ask his mom to borrow her car isn’t going to live up to her expectations. Yes, it’s a nice car, but it’s your moms. Can you even have anyone in the car with you yet?
I understand you think I’m mature—not like the other girls at school—but that’s because I'm not like them at all, I'm way older. Like, I worry about funny looking moles being skin cancer, older. I also understand your frustration with the girls you go to school with who can’t carry on a conversation about worldly topics or books because the books they read have been made into four vampire movies. I get you.
In fact, I commend you for being cultured and well-read but it’s not their fault they still read Tiger Beat and watch re-runs of That’s so Raven (am I aging myself? Do you even know what Tiger Beat is?); they just can’t comprehend anything more yet but give them time.
It's just not going to happen. I’m not impressed by how many touchdowns you scored or the fact that you were the homecoming king. I'd be impressed if you told me you had perfect credit though. You talk about things that are so far into my past that I age as I listen; things regarding high school, a very dark time in my life in which I've blocked out and now you're making it vivid again. I can't be with someone like you.
Don’t you want a girl you can actually take to the prom? I am far over the allowed age limit.
I hate to bruise your ego when you’re in a delicate state of puberty but I promise there’s a girl in third period wearing a T-shirt she bought at Wet Seal reading “Where’s my Mr. right?” who would jump at the chance to go out with you.
Stop listening to your friends who are telling you to keep trying because they want a six-pack of Smirnoff Ice and no, I can’t “tutor” you in social studies and no you can’t call me when you’re 18.
Best of luck, pal.