"How is your sex life?" "My sexual plight." Either of these two assertions could have been the subject of a conversation I heard four senior women discuss while I was engaged in a bit of eavesdropping. Read on and you can decide.
Yesterday, while I was walking down a long hallway in an apartment complex, just before approaching the lounge that is at a forty-five degree angle from the end of the hallway, I heard four senior women in the lounge talking about their sex lives. Upon hearing this conversation about sex that titilated me, I immediately stopped walking and did a bit of eavesdropping as I sought to stay out of the site of these ladies and hear more of what they had to say.
One woman said, "These days a man is hard to find, especially when you are our age." (I supposed she meant over sixty). She indicated that she was still interested in finding a man.
The second woman said, "Well, I am not interested anymore in having a man. Those days are over for me. What woman my age needs a man?"
The third woman, unlike the other three women, were married, and seemingly having a desire to either sypathize with or encourage the single women, said, "You can never know when the right man will show up." She added, "I am a witness that it can happen."
The fourth woman, unlike the other three women who were sitting, was standing and holding on to a walker, but looking as "fit as a fiddle." She said, "I don't even know whether or not I can do anything anymore. My music box hasn't been played since my husband died eight years ago." To that the other women bursted out laughing. One of them said, "That's a good way to describe it, music box!"
About that time I, a male, also feeling as "fit as a fiddle," approached these women letting them know that I had heard their conversation when I said, "I am a musicmaker! Some people call me a master musician." Surprised to hear a male's voice, three of them again bursted out with laughter. Most surprised and seemingly slightly embarrassed, the woman with the "not-recently - played music box" attempted to respond to me in a way that she decided against and then said, "I better not say that." After a delay she said to me, "So you play?" I responded, "But I only play fine tunes." Again, three of these women laughed as if they were experiencing paroxysmal emotional excitement. I took my harmonica, my troubadouring instrument, that has earned me the name Uriah Harp, that I am seldom without from my pocket and played a measure or two. Then I reiterated, "You see, I am a musicmaker."
As I was about to enter the elevator on the opposite side of the lounge from which I had entered, not to be outdone, the woman with the "not-recently played music box" said,
"Maybe we can do it in the elevator?" I replied just before stepping into the elevator, "The elevator is too small because when I play music I am like a wild man, all over the place." I wonder what did those women say after my departure. What do you think?
Copyright 2007 by Uriah J. Fields