San Diego Reader

The Latino cashier at 7-11 is one smooth operator. The other day, I laid my copy of San Diego Reader on the countertop while I paid for my soda. The guy behind the counter gave me a sly grin and then pretended to run the scanner over the top of the newspaper. Just when I was about to ask what he was doing, he said, "For you my dear, free."

"Leave it to a Latino," I said.

He grinned and gave me a thumbs up.

Okay, so this man deluded me into thinking--if only for a moment--that I've still got "it" going on. I cling to even the slightest hint of romance because at fifty-three, I know it may be the last chance I'll ever get. As I recently pinned on Pinterest, which was subsequently repinned by about one hundred ladies my age, "Once your over fifty, pinning IS you sex life."

It's so sad that we eventually have to lose all that we hold dear. Speaking of losing (how's that for a transition?) I am doing pretty well in my efforts to publicly humiliate myself into losing weight. I did cheat with a small bag of popcorn, but I wouldn't let the clerk fill it all the way to the top.

The one thing I'll miss in my quest to get skinny is Miller lite. In fact, I think I'll have a half a can a week. I can't stand being too perfect. The other night, I was lying on the bed having a wonderful beer buzz, when I heard Michael Jackson say, "I want to lie next to you. I love you. I need you." It was coming from the CD I bought at Walmart for two dollars, and his voice was so hot and intimate, I almost fell off the bed.

That's the most exciting thing that's gone on in my bed for quite some time but who knows, maybe next time it will be with the guy from 7-11...