Not Too Old to Dream

Last Edit December 8, 1998

OK. You can stop drooling.
Cinderella's shiny long black coach turned into a pumpkin at the stroke of 12.
Really.
I did not molest him.
I never have.
Not that I didn't think about it! Often!
And now he knows how old I am.
Ooops!
While at dinner, a friend of his came over and when Fabio translated their Italian conversation (beautiful to listen to), it turned out that the friend (who was also very cute) was concerned about turning 40. Men!
I laughed.
I said they were babies.
They commenced to guess my age.
Started at 38.
If there wasn't a table between us I would have kissed them both.
I said go higher.
No, they said.
Yes, I said.
So they tried.
40. 41. 42 . 43. 44.
There was some disbelief. No, there was a lot of it. Shock is maybe a better word.
Fabio had both hands on the table, staring at me. His friend was leaning over.
No, no. He said.
They got to 46.
They were shaking their heads.
I laughed. I told the friend that I was old enough to be Fabio's mother.
They were dumbfounded.
I didn't say I'd commit incest at a moment's notice.
I finally told them I was 56.
I got my hand kissed, by the very cute friend. Several times.
"You don't look that age."
Fabio was very surprised.
Thank you Dr. Lavey. Even if I am still glowing.
I should have kept my mouth shut.
Maybe.
Did I fall off the hit list?
Was I ever on it?
Probably not.
I'm not blond.
Darn!
But then, I was interested in something else.
I want to publish a collection of stories, "Adventures in Stalking Fabio".
And I want him on the cover.
With me and my boys.
We all have our little dreams.
I'll settle for the achievable.
The book is one of mine.
I need an agent.
I need a fairy godmother.