When elves attack

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My name is Edith Grabowski. I’m ninety-three years old, and I’ve decided to stop having sex.

I guess you just reach a certain age.

There are only so many positions. Even fewer with the medical equipment. And the scares are more and more frequent. The guy shows up and smiles, “I brought my little blue pills,” like it’s the funniest romantic line ever. An hour later, his eyes bug out. “My heart! My heart!” And just before we hit the Life Alert button, “No, wait, another false alarm. Where were we?” Then he thinks we just simply pick up where we left off. You get old enough, you realize that’s the difference between men and women. Stopping to grab the nitroglycerin tablets is a definite mood-kill.

Oh, and venereal disease. All these TV stations now reporting that some of the highest rates of STD in Florida are at senior citizen communities.

That’s true, look it up on the Internet.

It’s usually those places that have clubhouses and aqua-therapy swimming pools and newsletters with calendars of things to do. And I’m here to tell you they ain’t listing everything.

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