Old

 Herself speaks.

I might have officially obtained Old Crone status.

Facebook, in its ever-increasing desire to somehow show me something I will find entertaining, provided in Videos you may enjoy, a few clips from the Ellen show. That's fine, I find Ellen entertaining (although her shows in which she sends one of her employees, clearly terrified, through a Haunted House have always given me pause). This time, though, one of the clips related to Channing Tatum and the Magic Mike Live dancers. 

Oh, good Lord. No thank you. 

I've apparently reached a point in my life where the idea of chiseled men gyrating in my lap or on the floor or a stage in front of me is horrifying rather than alluring. Oh, honey, no. Put your shirt back on. You don't really want to be that close to me, any more than I want you that close to me. Let's have a root beer or something and talk about some kind of science. That would be much better. 

Way back when I was young, I wanted to be desirable. (I  still do, somewhere deep inside, much as I try to let that go.) Right now, I would be far more grateful for an actual interest in my thoughts and opinions. 

Talk with me. Ask me questions. This is the way to an Old Crone's heart. 

In case you're not yet an Old Crone, here is the clip in question.