The last time I talked to Aunt Daisy, my 83 year old friend who owns a farm up north, I had gotten some good advice about continuing on and following my heart about my career and about getting over the let down I felt over Scorpion.
So, I was stunned when Aunt Daisy called me a few weeks after and dropped her bombshell.
“Hi honey,” she said as always, but she sounded off.
I sat down and took a sip of wine. At her age, so many things could go wrong. I was almost afraid to ask. “You sound strange, darling.”
A long pause.
Could she be sick? Have broken a hip? Feels she’s too old to run a farm and wants to go to an assisted living community? I couldn’t imagine Aunt Daisy in one of those unless she was running it.
“Earl bolted,” she said and I could swear she was stifling a sob – very unlike her to cry.
“Oh, no,” I said, “I’m sorry. Recently?”
“About a week ago. Said he wasn’t the settlin’ type and was movin’ on.”
“You cared for him a lot, didn’t you?”
“Well……….best thing about him was that six pack on his belly and makin’ lightnin’ run through me in bed. But upstairs in the brains department, he was as dry as a riverbed in a drought.”
“Well ……… best thing about him was that six pack on his belly and makin’ lightnin’ run through me in bed. But upstairs in the brains department, he was as dry as a riverbed in a drought.”
I stifled a giggle.
“One conclusion I’ve come to,” she said.
“I’m done with men under 40! They’re still boys at heart and have roamin’ fever. From now on, if the men in my life still have their own teeth, they’re in. I don’t want a smile in a glass lookin’ at me from the bed stand.”
I wasn’t worried about Aunt Daisy. She would still have lovers if she gets to be 110.
The next time I read Aunt Daisy’s column Shootin’ from the Hip in her local paper she sends me, she focused on questions about lovers that had left.
Dear Aunt Daisy,
It’s three days before my wedding and I just found out my maid of honor has run away with my fiancé. I’m heartbroken. Not only that, but I’m left with a wedding gown and paying for a big reception. What should I do?
—– Totally Despondent
Dear Totally Despondent,
You can always sell the gown. Go ahead and have the party. Celebrate that you didn’t get hitched to a man who can’t tell a thoroughbred from a donkey. Celebrate that you lost your worst enemy, that darn donkey. The next time you see your former fiance, tell him to go pee on an electric fence.
Dear Aunt Daisy,
One day I came home from work and found that my boyfriend had moved all his stuff out of our apartment. There was no note and I have no clue as to where he went. What should I do?
—— Half Empty Apartment
Dear Half Empty Apartment,
If a man leaves without leavin’ you a note, assume he’s illiterate. Think of the things you don’t have to do anymore: wash his dirty socks, listen to ball games, pick up crushed beer cans off the floor and pretend he’s good in bed. Just hope he doesn’t know the difference between a branch and a rattlesnake.
Aunt Daisy’s back on the saddle again!
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