Talk About Heinous!

My goodness, I don’t know what I’m worrying about.  These days people talk about absolutely everything; everywhere, but face to face, unless you’re a talk show host.  Personally I love growing older; learning new things every day.

For instance, did you know that wines from New Zealand pretty much all come with screw-tops? Something to do with a rare fungus every once in awhile destroying a pricey bottle, and now California’s considering the same.  The radio account of the impending Demise of the Cork made me suddenly regret tossing all those odd–occasion reminders which accumulated on the bottom of my utensil drawer. Darn.  They’ll wind up on eBay some day; maybe I’m the last to know and they already are.

However, one commercial which assaulted my ears recently did not cause such delight:  something called a bowel-staple?  Anal-crosshatch?  I don't EVEN want to know what that is; you get the idea of the material and general location. Reminds me of the call I got in Manhattan years ago from co-worker Jonathan,

“Is it Haynus as in Anus or Heenus as in Penis?”

Why would he assume I knew?   Remember when they first started those ads for…what was it…Viagra?  They didn’t tell you the name, nor the purpose; just, "Ask your doctor."  Kinda like the billboards for Jurassic Park.

So it’s a fact: if I ever date again, I’m going to be upfront about which stage of sexual intensity I’m currently experiencing.  No need to waste anyone’s precious Golden-Years.  But wait…I also learned of Watch-Parties to group-view adult soaps.  Wow, just like Line Dancing, maybe I won’t even NEED a partner!