Never Pet A Stray

I am an Old Fart magnet. I always have been. Old Guys like me. This was much more amusing when the "Old Guys" in question were thirty. It is less so, now that the Old Guys are geezers.

Considering my advancing age, I'm quite certain some of you, (My Mother, Big Judes, in particular) are thinking that maybe, just maybe, I am being a tiny bit too choosy.

Point taken.

In my defense, I am not looking for perfection. The list of requirements for a potential mate is not that extensive anymore. Sensitivity, and Wicked Abs were crossed off long ago. Original equipment is no longer mandatory. Heaven knows, I have a few after market parts myself.

There are some things, however, that I cannot compromise on. For example, if there is glue in your toolbox, fine. Glue in your medicine cabinet is not acceptable. Any adhesive used to attach body parts is grounds for immediate disqualification.

Potential Mr.T's do not have to be eloquent communicators who are in touch with their feelings, and express themselves without reservation. The ability to hear without electronic assistance is required. I may say something fascinating and I do not want you to miss it.

If you own neckties older than your potential bride, I am sorry. I am not interested.

If your monthly prescription medication budget (performance enhancing drugs excluded, I am not totally unreasonable) exceeds my monthly shoe budget, I am sorry, I do not think we are compatible.

If you take advantage of the 10% senior citizens discount at any establishment while on a date with me, regrettably, it will be our last encounter.

It is acceptable to have teeth that are blindingly white and in perfectly straight rows. This in fact, is a bonus. If on the other hand, you store your pearly whites in a glass of water on the nightstand, well then, there will be no slumber parties with me.

Are these demands so unreasonable? I do not believe they are. In fact, after not one, but two, encounters yesterday with geriatric Don Juans at the CVS Pharmacy, I am revising the rules to include the following:

If the contents of your shopping buggy include any cream, ointment, paste, or potion, intended to be applied to the nether regions of your wrinkly old butt, this would not be an opportune time to approach a younger than you, still somewhat attractive, (in her own egotistical opinion) former Desperate Housewife at the CVS. Can you not see that she is in the throes of an agonizing decision between "Copper Penny" and "Wine with Everything" hair color? Good Lord. Is it the cut off sweat pants and fuzzy flip-flops that make you think she is approachable? She is not.

This is directed at Grandpa Bachelor #2: Do I look like someone with any knowledge of the virtues of Debbie Meyers Green Bags? It was total coincidence that we were on the "As Seen on TV" aisle at the same time. I do not buy this stuff. (Not often, anyway). I have no knowledge of Debbie Meyers, or her damn bags. Because of you, rule number 96 has been implemented. It reads: “Anyone referencing a product from an infomercial as a pick up line, will be immediately dismissed. No exceptions.”

I am concerned that after so many years of cultivating my unapproachable façade, I may have become complacent of late. In the not so distant past, only the most bold, self-confident suitors, would have dared to confront me without provocation. Now it seems they have no compunction about not only approaching, but also following me about, like lost puppies. I think I am losing my edge.

When I related my sad tale to BFSK S. (Best Friend since Kindergarten) from the parking lot of the CVS her response was swift.
“You know better than to pet strays. You should have never made eye contact. Now go home and color your hair. It looks like hell.”

Once again, good advice.
Never pet a stray. Even if they look old and harmless, they are still trouble.

Out-T.

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