After getting back from the beach, my bikini top still wet with ocean water, my friend, Jerry, who lives in New York, calls me on my cell phone. Now Jerry, mind you, is like 96 years old with a face that looks like a bulldog. He's been married since the dawn of the ice age, which God knows was a long time ago, and he has 8 kids, over 20 grandkids, and even a handful of great-grandkids. The first thing he asks me when I answer the phone is "What are you wearing, my dear?" And I'm thinking, "Is he asking me this cuz he's being a dirty old man? or is it because it's hot in Florida and a question like that is a normal thing to ask?"
"The usual," I answer.
"Next to nothing I hope."
Then he starts talking about the weather and his friend who said it's hot in Florida in the summer and the condo on the beach that he's planning to buy so he can stay close to me when he visits.
Which means he's a very caring guy and a good friend of mine. . . or he's trying to get in my pants!