By Dorothy Parker

I was seventy-seven, come August,
I shall shortly be losing my bloom . . .

When you come to this time of abatement,
To this passing from Summer to Fall,
It is manners to issue a statement
As to what you got out of it all.

So I’ll say, though reflection unnerves me
And pronouncements I dodge as I can,
That I think (if my memory serves me)
There was nothing more fun than a man!

Though the shabby unbalanced the splendid,
And the bitter outmeasured the sweet,
I should certainly do as I then did,
Were I given the chance to repeat.

For contrition is hollow and wraithful,
And regret is no part of my plan,
And I think (if my memory’s faithful)
There was nothing more fun than a man!

Comment: “Shortly” losing her “bloom”?? Now that’s an optimist. Or somebody who is a bit confused — I wonder how good her memory really is. 🙂

Wait a minute.  That’s so agist.  There *are* a lot of folks who “have all their flowers” and who are enjoying one another’s company well into old age.  And it’s not just platonic, said the New York Times some months ago in a highly publicized report. 

So I wonder why Ms. Parker used the past tense when referring to her “fun”?   She certainly was no shrinking violet.  My guess is that there probably weren’t that many “age-appropriate” men around,  certainly ones who could match wits with the likes of Ms. Parker.   The fact is, men die early and leave us holding the bag.  Yuk.

So, ladies, if your wish is to live forever, stop rubbing that lamp.  Solo life is not much fun.   Better ask the genie for a much younger guy you could actually have a good conversation with.