I really must tell you about the English gent applying for a position as my boy toy last week. He was trying to sell me on his attributes, chief of which is an incredibly long life line. The lady who took his money had explained that this foretold a life where he could pamper a wealthy woman (I was wearing the cubic zirconia earrings) for a long time over her otherwise dreary life. He also implied that I could infer that other attributes were similarly sized. I responded that I usually don’t like men who wear plaid unless it’s soft flannel that gently brushes over the nape of my neck as he’s massaging it (my neck). I was also concerned about the bags around his eyes, as they indicated a man who had a lot of drama in his life. I don’t need drama. The last five men I’ve had as my boytoys were mewling, demanding creatures who wouldn’t take care of themselves, much less me. Speaking of which, I had last been to England in my early twenties, and the dental care there at that time was, let’s just say, a bit substandard. Imagine my surprise when he opened his gob to let me inspect. In the end, I had a waiting list for the boytoy position that was already too unwieldy, so I had to decline with some mixed feelings. After all, he did have that long life line.