It's time to spill the beans. Time to 'splain, as Ricky would to Lucy, where he's been until 3 in the morning (metaphorically speaking, of course, the last time I was up at 3am I was being HIGHLY paid for the anomaly by a major U.S. manufacturer of packaged goods).
I've been out...with other people.
It started innocently enough. A random stumble onto a page somewhere or another led me to the British nexus of Dear Abby wannabes (called "agony aunts" on that side of the pond, wot wot). After a few minutes of sniffing around at the fiery train wrecks in plain view, I fell down the rabbit hole. So many lost little lambies, so few grizzled shepherdesses to lead them. Plus I get to say things like "on holiday" in place of "on vacation" and use the word "besotted" a lot. Plus-plus I get to exercise my Lucy Van Pelt muscles, which always feels good.
Of course, I'm not always the oldest, bossiest chick on the block (although I'm generally the sassiest...ha!). In my newest part-time blogging gig, demographically speaking I am but a wee slip of a girl. I have no idea whether the peeps reading the Third Age blog will find anything I have to blab about interesting or informatinve; I have been told by our fearless leader, the lovely Jory Des Jardins (who is even younger than I am, fer cryin' out loud) that my job is to provide local color, or basically, sass it up without "shorting out the system," as Jory puts it.
All I can say is thank GOD everything really is relative; until I hit senior year, there will always be people older than me, and that's how I like it, brother. Oh, and thank you Jory, both for the vote of confidence and for giving me something to do to occupy my idle hours. If I had to re-iron my dust ruffle one more time, I swear I'd scream...