Mayday

Sometimes, all it takes is a hot meal—or a broken heater—to spark a long-lost flame!

Marilyn

I was looking for a handyman, not a “handsy” man.

And don’t think I was too old to know the difference.

You wouldn’t believe the things these eyes had seen.

Thought I’d seen it all—until I joined Tinder.

I was swiping men away like flies. To the left. To the left.

Too grouchy. Too gassy.

Not enough hair. Not enough teeth.

I was elderly, not dead.

The last person I’d expected to see was Clyde Jenkins.

Now, here was a man who could handle his tools.

Clyde

I was looking for a home-cooked meal now and again … and maybe a respectable woman to warm my bed.

After spending a little time on this online dating app, I wasn’t sure there were many women my age still alive out there.

Then, I stumbled across a photo that gave my pacemaker—and other parts—a tickle.

Marilyn May … I knew she was a feisty lady and a dang good cook.

She’d also happened to be my first sweetheart.

So, I did what any self-respecting man in his post-prime would do.

I swiped right, trimmed my nose hairs, and pulled out my church shirt.

They don’t call these the golden years for nothing!