“One can only hope, dear. One can only hope!”
Aunt Doreen has a different man every night of the week (except Sunday night when she puts her feet up) because, in her own words, she’s “grabbing what’s left of life by the short and curlies.” Which I think means she’s grabbing life by the balls. She’s certainly ballsyand doesn’t give a “flying fig” for what anyone thinks. Personally, I think she’s got the right idea. I also think my family might not have been so calm about me staying here if they knew what kind of crazy she is.
We might not be related but she’s my kind of woman, and I’ve decided I’m taking a page out of her book. Not that I intend to date a different man every night. I might have considered it prior to what I’ve come to refer to in my head as “the interview.” But now I’m only interested in Whit.
“Frank is a good little mover,” Aunt Doreen says, snapping me out of my thoughts. “And tonight is salsa night.” She does a little shimmy that belies a recent hip replacement. “I’ll be as stiff as a board tomorrow. If I’m lucky, Frank will reach that point a little sooner, eh?” Turning her head over her shoulder, she sends me a bawdy wink.
“What time were you thinking?”
“Of coming back for a nightcap? Oh, I shouldn’t think I’ll be home before eleven 0’clock tonight.”
I make a mental note to be in bed and fast asleepwaybefore then as, from under the sink, she pulls out a vase much too big for this modest bunch. She begins to fill it with water from the faucet. “These are beautiful. You really shouldn’t have.”
“They’re just a little thing to say thanks for putting up with me.”
“None of your nonsense,” she scoffs. “You’re not a bother. You brighten the place up.”
I eye the orange-painted walls, pink fridge, electric kettle and toaster. Who knew my energy was so… vivid. “How long has Frank been part of your rotation?”
Aunt Doreen pauses, a yellow tulip in hand. “Maybe two months?”
“A new boy.” Pressing my elbow to the table, I brace my chin on my palm. “Did you meet him at your salsa class?”
“No. At the little supermarket on the corner. My friend Betty was popping ’round for lunch, and I needed salad stuff. Would you believe he accosted me in the veg aisle? I was holding a cucumber, and he said, ‘ah, a lonely lady’s favorite companion.’”
I almost choke on my tongue. “And you let him take you out after that introduction?”
“At first, I thought about hitting him with it. Only, I hadn’t paid, and it seemed a bit unfair. After all, Ravi, the owner, didn’t deserve a bruised cucumber. And I’m not sure his wife would’ve liked it.”
Cue choke number two. “Aunt Doreen!”
“What? It’s true. I would’ve kicked Frank in the wotsits if I was a few years younger, only this new hip gives me some jip when I lift my leg too high. Anyway, I gave him the once-over and decided he wasn’t bad looking. He still has most of his own hair and not many men do at that age. Anyway, there he was, standing in the veg aisle, like the cock of the walk, a box of teabags under his arm when I realized he’d come out in his house slippers. So I said to him, ‘nice slippers,’ you know, all unimpressed, thinking I’d take the wind out of his sails. But do you know what the cheeky devil said? ‘How would you like to find them under your bed in the morning?’”
“Oh, my gosh!” I say with a laugh, partly at her storytelling and partly at her wiggling eyebrows.
“But I do like the bold ones. That’s why I decided I would like to see what they looked like. Those slippers. Under my bed. Or at least, to see if he was all mouth and no trousers. Maybe you’d call that all hat and no cattle.
“All talk and no action? And he wasn’t?” Or else he wouldn’t be a fixture on her rotation.
“Well, thereisa lot going on in the trouser department, if you know what I mean.”
I roll my lips inward to prevent something careless from falling out. Something like,ew, no, Aunt Doreen, I do not need to hear about elderly man penis and how it performs!
Thankfully, she’s not looking at me as she concentrates on her flower arrangement. But coy isn’t in her wheelhouse. “The wonders of modern medicine,” she murmurs with a secretive kind of smile.
I don’t think she’s talking about her hip replacement.
“Don’t these gentleman callers of yours mind that they have competition?”
“If they do, they know to keep it to themselves, or they can sling their hook elsewhere. I was married once before. I’m not doing that again. This keeps them on their toes, and it doesn’t land me dirty socks and underpants to wash.”
“Well, it’s clearly working for you.” Because a more vibrant senior citizen I’ve yet to meet. Maybe I should be sad that Aunt Doreen has a more active social life than I do, but I’m not. I love that she’s squeezing out every drop of this crazy journey. Not that my life has been crazy so far, but I have high hopes. Very high hopes.
“Variety, dear Mimi, is the spice of life. Maybe you can find that out for yourself when you make a couple of new friends. That’s all it’ll take before your social life becomes a whirl. A gorgeous girl like you will have the boys trotting after her like tom cats.”
“We’ll see.” I’m not planning on settling for a boy. I have my sights set on a man. A whole lot of man with eyes like a tiger and a bite I want to experience.
We fall quiet for a moment, lost in our own thoughts. Doreen continues to arrange her modest bouquet as my mind returns to musing about Whit. I’m beginning to wonderhowhe fits women into his schedule—never mindwho.
