I Named My One Hormone Ginger

Get a room..

I just turned 71 going on 35 and am often, to my surprise, confronted with romantic invitations. Which I avoid, claiming to only have one hormone left. I mean, what-are you planning to start a family? My son says, no, senior romance is about companionship. Companionship is nice, but my wealthy 78 year-old friend, Shelly said, “At this age, they’re either looking for a nurse or a purse.”

I do know of one couple, nice folks, who got married past age 70 and they are still in love and taking care of each other. I know two other couples for whom it was a disaster. A friend asked me, as I sat with her on the Garden Club veranda (as if I was part of the hoity-toity set), what I thought about senior romance. I told her it happens all the time, but personally, I only had one hormone.

“What did you name your hormone?” she asked.

“Hmm..yes, that survivor does deserve a name. I’ll have to think about it.”

I decided to name her Ginger, after the hooker’s phone number I was given when I changed phone companies. At first, I got a lot of calls: “Ginger, are you free?” I assume they meant ‘free’ as in available rather than free as in no cost. I usually just said “wrong number.” One guy, projecting sexy voice, asked if I could meet him. I said, “wrong number.” He hesitated a moment and said, “This is John. Maybe you can help me.” John? Isn’t that slang for a hooker’s customers? No, John, I’m not going to help you. Ever think of trying DIY and saving some money?

I may only have one hormone but I do like men. I like their quirks and unique perspective. I like their desire to be heroic. I enjoy their company. How great it would be to have a male friend who was a true friend. But apparently they retain thousands, if not millions, of hormones, far too many to name, which complicates simple friendship.

Well, Ginger, it is what it is. We press on.

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