Bootie Calls, Grandsons and Pickle Jars

I met my new neighbor. He’s in his mid-twenties and is getting married in August. Until then he and his fiancée will be cleaning and painting and be-still-my-heart his future brother-in-law is going to take down the two story deck that I’ve hated looking at since it was built. He said his insurance agent told him it was a liability---no kidding---and “it makes no sense without the above ground swimming pool,” he added. It didn’t make any sense with the swimming pool either but I was too busy yelling “hallelujah!” to tell him that. I’m thrilled I’ll have my long-range view back again. Mr. New Guy seems like a nice kid. He was chatty with an old person---that would be me---and that’s a good starting place to judge his personality. At least it is in my world where too many young people would rather pretend old people don’t exist than to talk to us. Perhaps they think wrinkles and saggy skin might be catching if they stand too close? Not to mention we’re boring since so many in my peer age group can’t converse in gigabits, acronyms and hashtags. Forget the Botox, ladies. Sew an Apple iPhone 6 to your hand and you'd look twenty years younger!

Wednesday I went to another Red Hat Society tea that should be renamed a coffee but that wouldn’t fit the image most people have in their heads of old ladies in funny hats and gobs of jewelry sitting around with their pinky fingers pointed upward. There were fifteen of us all talking at once and few of us were listening to anyone else. However, I did pick up the details to our next walk-about in two weeks. We’re going to a huge barn out in the boondocks for lunch and shopping farm products that must be imported from out of state because we don’t have any growing here in Michigan yet. Maybe the barn will be filled with jams and jellies from last year’s crops? Stay tuned; I’ll no doubt write about the experience since it’s probably too soon in my relationship with my new neighbor for me to play show-and-tell with him when I get back. Just think, if he turns out to be a grandson-type who enjoys talking with me over our property line I’ll have no need to blog in the future! 

Now I’ll tell you a story about three widows (my age) who all lost their husbands in the same time frame as I did. One has recently found a guy to sleep with, another is desperately looking for an old dude to marry and the third one found a guy-friend who gives good hugs and has kissable cheeks. Sorry, if you expected a moral to the story or punchline here, I don’t have one. I just thought it was interesting to compare how they are each moving on compared to my journey into the unknown. Two of these women are longing for love to come their way again, though neither one is anywhere near it yet unless you want to redefine a bootie call. The third---if you can believe her, and I do---just enjoys a good hug once in a while and doesn’t want it to go any farther. If I threw myself into the story I’d be a woman longing for a less complicated relationship, a grandson-like relationship with a guy who lives close enough to open pickle jars and who'd laugh at my adventures the Land of Growing Old. If Mr. New Guy Next Door doesn’t fill that bill I’m going to have to buy a jar opener. Man, I’m getting weak! 

“Fill the bill.” I just tried to google the origins of that phrase without any luck. I'm guessing it comes from a point in British theater history when they tried to fill the play bills up with acts. “That last act fills the bill, sorry you’ll have to wait until next month to audition.” It bugs me when Google doesn’t have the answers I seek! I’ll bet if I had the Apple iPhone 6 sewn on my hand Siri would know if I’m guessing correctly. She knows everything. And, yes, I'm jealous of her operating system or whatever it is that makes Siri, Siri. ©