I’ve been batting about with my pal Charee on the texting thing and I mentioned I was dating again, here and there, one or two lasses, no more no less, and thus forth.

Her darling reply was, “You planning on having sister wives?”

And I’m thinking, “Shit, is my Magic Underwear showing again?”

Anyhow, she got all hung up on me saying “I’m dating a young lady” and immediately started in on “Young lady? How old is she?”

Sigh. I’ve grown weary of the question. And when weary, smart-arse mode takes in, and I said, “Well, she’s already forgotten how to do algebra, so I can assume she’s at least two years out of high school. Translation: Legal.”

And Charee comes back with, “You should make your cut off point 27,” which is exceptionally generous because my other pals are putting the lower limit at 30 to 35. This is why I like Charee. She continuously underestimates my capacity to destroy my love life over and over and over again.

It’s this age factor thing my friends and detractors are hung up on. Thinking it through, I told Charee, “It shouldn’t be a factor of age. It should be a factor of weirdness. I shouldn’t date anyone weirder than I.”

Charee’s thoughtful reply was, “Yes, you can use some balance.”


“Charee, it’s not balance that’s important. I just don’t need the competition.”

The things we learn when we refuse to learn.