"40 plus and single?"

this was the subject line of an email that sneakily squirmed it's way past my spam filter today (gotta get that thing fixed). c'mon! times are not that hard that i have to be tagged "single" and 9 years older, are they? wait--i'll answer that. NO, THEY ARE NOT.

or perhaps the gods of dating are suggesting that i'm meant to take a lover in his or her 40s. how clairvoyant of them! but wait, i guess if they're gods--they'd have no use for psychic powers. anyway, don't know where i'm going with this, so I'll end here by saying, i have neither the need or want for the matchmaker emails. In fact, I made a match all by myself just half an hour ago with a chubby little black pug, with one good eye and a hankering for my ham sammich in a charming little hair salon on Broome--where jacqueline gave me a lover-ly bang trim (see below). He crawled onto my lap, enduringly planted himself there--and I fell madly in love with him. Oh, and then he fell asleep.