It has come to pass, Dear Reader, that One no longer requires One’s earthly body as One can now exist entirely in Cyberspace.
Yesterday was the final blow to One’s human form. Being a Bank Holiday Monday the dating website was awash with floor pacing, trouser twitching old codgers desp for contact with the outside world.
One, entirely due to One egging on aforementioned old codgers, received an invitation to dinner, an offer of a new flat mate, a more general ‘tea and a bun’ offer and the usual ‘please sleep with me, I love you,’ plea…
WHAT A LOAD OF OLD COBBLINGTONS
One has been required to take a look into the Gothic looking glass in order to remind One that One is in fact a fat old has-been and not the delicious confection of yore.
Oh how One yearns for the days, many moons ago, when One could merely bat an eyelid or accidentally let the top button of One’s chemise fall loose in order to get some deluded old sap to do One’s bidding.
WELL NOT NO MORE
‘Tis still alarmingly simple to ‘hook’ the silly blighters with an amusing tale or a jolly jape, but One suspects the minute One lets the drawbridge down on the Underground Lair that even the most decrepit old, duffel-bag willied, old git would shear as fast as his varicose legs would carry him.
Any road up, speaking of delusion, One has been informed by the RR that ‘anyone expecting passion after the age of 50 is delusional’ and should effectively ‘gather ye faded rosebuds where ye may.’
One of course, is, in the manner of Blanche DuBoir…
‘I haven’t gained an ounce since my wedding day.’
Me neither, Blanche, I’m still a size 22 with bra overhang and wobbly thighs.
COME AND GET ME