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If nothing else, the social media is an equal opportunity venue. Take FaceBook, for instance. Anyone can traverse the lanes of the internet highway. Even old folks. The great lure of this network is the channels it provides to people from your past. I recently crossed paths with an old pal from the Post Office. We’d been fairly good friends during the many years ago when we worked together. In the hive of intrigue that characterized most postal work places, he had been an interesting character, just one of the many predators, cruising the aisles and offices and break rooms looking for fresh meat to inspect. He was 10 years younger than me and at that time, this age difference among other things, kept our relationship platonic. We were buddies and even confidants on occasion. Now, he and I are two old retirees, him seemingly more ravaged by age than me. Anyhow shortly after our recent reconnection, he started calling me. I had no problem with this because he is a bristling repository of interesting news and juicy gossip about all of our old mutual acquaintances. He also has lewd stories to reveal about his bygone days as a womanizer delivering his male and getting the stamp of approval from his patrons. Did I say lewd? Man, I‘m luvin’ it. The most brazen among our old co-workers are now sanctimonious church sistas. Naturally. Lately, not content with just reminisicing about his glory days, this ol fart has decided he wants to fulfill the secret fantasies he claims he used have about me. He wants this black widow to start spinning her web. His wife? According to him, she’s out of it, sickly and “forgetful”. Watta guy! Anyhow, for the past few months he‘s been calling regularly, and once he’s through with his updates about the “postal alumni association“, he then proceeds to talk dirty to me, promising me all manner of passionate sex, ecstatic experiences that will curl my toes and rock my world! He has diabetes and other health issues, but not to worry. He claims he has something better than viagra. I suspect it’s a penis pump. The ludicrous visuals his seductive suggestions bring to mind, send me into paroxisms of stifled laughter. EW. Undeterred he thinks I should take the plunge, or let him take it - as in being a priority on my Bucket List or fuck it list, as the case may be. He wants to take me to a romantic spa for my 80th birthday, pamper me, and ply me with champagne. Cheers. Unfortunately, the effect his promises have on me, dull rather stir desire. What if after things progressed, the room isn’t dark enough to spare us the petrifying sight of each other in the buff? Or the bubbly isn't intoxicating enough to reverse my reluctance? What if the geezer has a heart attack? What if I have a -stroke?(no pun intended) What if his wife really wasn’t out of it and found out about me. What would my grand children think? Omigod, Nana! Ooops, sorry, for this little lapse. Where was I? Ummmm, let's see. Will Zimmerman be found guilty of the lesser charge of boyslaughter? Will Obama get serious about Syria? Can the Asiatic Airlines plane crash be attributed to bad driving? Will Paula Deen offer Edward Snowden asylum? Will Kanye and Kim’s love affair go south now that they’ve had “North”? Will the heir to the British throne be a Prince - or a Madonna? Don’t ask me.

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