Okay...here's the thing.

I admit...up front...and, I've mentioned before, I enjoy the pictures of the guys on relationship web-sites.  It's not that I'm in the market for a relationship, with a guy, young or old, rich or poor.  However, I do like the pictures of the guys that appear on the right hand side of my e-mail page.  These guys are gorgeous.  Seriously they are real 'eye candy'.

Hey, there might be snow on my roof (dyed blond), but there's still fire (well, burning embers) in my furnace.

Anyway, trust me, I never go to the actual I've Got Just The Mate Connections web sites, I just browse the ads.  Besides, Frankie won't let me.  The truth is I worry more about her visiting these sites than me.  I've watched her drool.  I don't want her to find anybody, she might form a relationship with one of these guys and move out....move out!  Move out?  How would I survive without her?

Then, this morning, there was this picture...Oh, he was not my age or anything like that, but, boy, was he ever my type.  Son of a gun.  He was, chocolate covered cherry, pie al-a-mode, hot from the oven butterscotch cookie bee-uuu-ttt-ful.  Salt and pepper grey hair, thin, not too muscular, wearing a white V-neck, short sleeved T-shirt.

You talk about drool...'scuse me, I've got to go get a towel.  OMG.  Put a pack of cigs' against the edge of one of those sleeves and roll the sleeve up and you've got, you've got...you've got...   Oh, my, I think I'm getting the vapors.

Oooooooo, If I were only forty years younger.  Forty years did I really say forty years?

This is so outlandish.  What the heck is the matter with me?  Earth to Sandra, earth to Sandra.  Reality check, reality check!!!

Let's face it, no matter how good looking these guys are 'on paper', eventually I would have to do their laundry, cook their meals and clean their house.  Oh, they might wine and dine me, send me flowers, warm my feet at night; and that all sounds peachy-keen, however, I could no longer be able to eat from a can, let dust collect on the furniture and work until the wee small hours.  Hmmm, let me see.

Don't care much for wine, though an occasional dine I can do with friends, the dirty socks in the laundry are mine alone, I don't have to cook, and seldom do, (oh, I do eat from cans, [more often than I should admit], but do take it from the cans and heat it before consuming).  And unless Frankie writes in it, mostly I can't see the dust, and no longer give a crap it's there. 

Doing the weight's and measures, I'm afraid I have to say, "Sorry, good looking guy."  I was tempted there for a minute.  Truth be told, unless you've got a be-jillion bucks in the bank, one foot in the grave, and me as your beneficiary on insurance policies and will, I'm simply not interested.

However, if you do happen to have all those things, you can reach me at 1-555-5555, extension 555.  Ask for Rambling Old Woman.