Imported Poems

Wait for it, Rich. There's a story coming - no poetry today!

Background: I lurk on several sites to monitor Orlando gossip / catch photos. Many members are younger than I am, and have suggested that "after 30 people lose their looks" (this is why, for instance, Orlando isn't as pretty as he once was. It has nothing to do with smoking, drinking too much, staying out all night, and rivaling Bryon in his erotic habits).

Needless to say, I am amused by their general stereotype of us "over 30 folks", so I posted the following on the board regarding something that happened to me last night. Tongue-in-cheek, but I don't have to spell that out.

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Countess of Moldovia's Pilgrimage:

No one here knows this, but in 8 days, I turn 38, a geriatric by current standards, at least those present here. If one loses one's looks around 30, then certainly now I am nothing more than hoary beast, a hunchbacked hobbler of society's streets, whose demeanor is forcably suffered by the sympathetic masses.

But I digress (and so does Byron - often).

Imagine my surprise, then, as I was lurching my way out of Walmart last night, tired and dirty from the difficult manual labor required of one *so old*, a boy fresh as the daisies (indeed, he was 19) and as beautiful as Jude Law in "Wilde", approached me and, after the shortest conversation, invited me back to his house for a drink.

I can only suppose that, in that miniscule gape, possessing a great depth and mental capacity all his own, he had fallen in love with my faculties, and desired to converse with me upon philosophy, psychology and the arts. Or, perhaps he has discerned my virtuous nature and propensity for chaste love, and hoped to pass the evening exercising them. If neither of these holds true, then I am certain it was for his magnanimous nature that, sensing my great suffering (for all such horribly deformed beasts - appearing less human - must suffer greatly), wished to alleviate it by temporarily bestowing his own glorious beauty upon me (though closed eyes and wandering thoughts be a necessity to the cause).

I assured him, however, that I did not require such mercy, and that the very virtues he so admired in me would prevent me in exercising them, and if he desired more conversation, he could call me the next day.

And here ends my ancedote - from a woman who, as she grows older, finds her suitors grow younger.

(And isn't it nice to know young guys are not so superficial to desire a woman merely for her looks?)