Then yesterday, after my husband had sadly had a nerdgasm over a WW2 models magazine (No, real models – little tanks and planes. Sympathy accepted, thank you.) I showed him what would make me get as excited...
“He’s young enough to be your son!” my husband exclaimed.
NO! Then I thought about that. My sons are still in school, but… technically… *Sag* Yes, I suppose a 20something COULD be young enough to be my son, but I’m not going to go there. Too depressing. So I’m going to keep swooning over gorgeous men I’m never going to meet and who wouldn’t look at me in any lustful way, because that’s what I do. He’s resigned to that, just like I’m resigned to his tinkering with plastic models and getting excited over a new flesh toned paint. Such is life. But as it’s my birthday…