I find them fun, but not at the pool.
I search them out at the poker tables if they are not talking about "outs" and arguing about hands or hidden in hooded caves of sunglasses and walkman.
What they have over my peer group is I never find their conversation cluttered with every single doctor visit they have experienced in the last ten years and a detailed whine about aches and pains. Sure, we old ones are all sick and falling apart and preparing with the rest of our peers to die as soon as we have some free time in our schedule of funeral and wake visits, but so we go out to party to be reminded of that?
And once the youngsters find they can tease me, I delight in the banter that happens at a poker table.
My last group were perhaps even under 20 at Turning Stone (18 and up allowed) at 2 am, and in between good humored poker remarks they talked about their plans to be up and out by nine to go rock climbing the following day.
Nice. Life was still a delight for them, not an ordeal.
Not to mention those two young Minnesota blonds at O'Shea's who hugged me every time they won a hand and whose boyfriend came around a bit tipsy and put me in charge of seeing they got on the bus safely.
Or that girl Vanessa from Houston at the Flamingo last May who told us her name when I asked, but looked at me with a coquettish smile and said in the most sultry voice, "But I love it when you call me Texas."
Once at El Cortez I had a partially senile 80 plus woman rub her hand along my leg, and she wasn't looking for her walker either.
"You should just rub your own leg, Ma'am."
Somehow that was not quite as pleasurable as flirting young twenty somethings.
I search them out at the poker tables if they are not talking about "outs" and arguing about hands or hidden in hooded caves of sunglasses and walkman.
What they have over my peer group is I never find their conversation cluttered with every single doctor visit they have experienced in the last ten years and a detailed whine about aches and pains. Sure, we old ones are all sick and falling apart and preparing with the rest of our peers to die as soon as we have some free time in our schedule of funeral and wake visits, but so we go out to party to be reminded of that?
And once the youngsters find they can tease me, I delight in the banter that happens at a poker table.
My last group were perhaps even under 20 at Turning Stone (18 and up allowed) at 2 am, and in between good humored poker remarks they talked about their plans to be up and out by nine to go rock climbing the following day.
Nice. Life was still a delight for them, not an ordeal.
Not to mention those two young Minnesota blonds at O'Shea's who hugged me every time they won a hand and whose boyfriend came around a bit tipsy and put me in charge of seeing they got on the bus safely.
Or that girl Vanessa from Houston at the Flamingo last May who told us her name when I asked, but looked at me with a coquettish smile and said in the most sultry voice, "But I love it when you call me Texas."
Once at El Cortez I had a partially senile 80 plus woman rub her hand along my leg, and she wasn't looking for her walker either.
"You should just rub your own leg, Ma'am."
Somehow that was not quite as pleasurable as flirting young twenty somethings.
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