Recently my world shifted from the mid-thirties to the late thirties. I’ve never really cared about it because age is just a number, right? I mean, I’m in the best shape of my life and look better than people much, much younger. My age never crossed my mind until a random twink who wasn’t even old enough to witness the most important sporting event of my youth – the Tanya Harding, Nancy Kerrigan kerfuffle! – called me a ”Daddy”.
A Daddy? Really? When I think of a “Daddy”, I think of this incredibly sexy older man, with rippling muscles and a nice furry chest – who may or may not be wearing leather chaps and a harness. Ok, maybe I have a hairy chest and I am two years away from the big 4-0, but I am no “Daddy.” Well, that is not quite the truth anymore…..Continue Reading