Since Ken’s death I have been approached indirectly by a couple of what I call “Butt Sniffers” (because their behavior reminds me of a dog). These are men who seem to think I need a man. From my perspective they look like hapless fellows who would like to live in my house, have me cook, clean, and do laundry for them. In exchange for? I hate to think!
Yesterday after swimming I was chatting with the lifeguard, and a man about my age twice divorced came up all friendly. I confess my hackles did go up, and then I had a marvelous realization. In his mind I was not thin, young, blond, or docile enough to be of interest. Whew. Dodged that one!