The Tales

A dear friend of mine thinks I have enough stories to tell to hold a talk show. And he's a dear friend whose opinions are as dear to me, but I'm not quite so sure. I don't call them stories, I call it experience. Because when you're old as the hills or as I am, well you've been round several blocks. What makes a girl have a past so rich as to keep a blog going day in, day out? Life, and it's experiences. And middle age too of course, although I like to call it the prime of life. I am aware I haven't had an exactly boring life. Curiosity kills the cat and it nearly killed me too in the process. But I've lived to tell all the tales... perhaps that's what my friend means about stories, the tales. Oh God I have so many, but I forget about them, then something suddenly jogs my memory and I remember it all, in colour too. And it almost always involves men, perhaps because I've never really had female friends close enough to party with. Or to talk to. So I just went for the only other gender available... men. Some tales are downright funny, others so sad that they become funny, others hilarious. I could start recounting most of them but I'm scared that blogspot would kick me out and that a lot of my followers would start reading my blog in the middle of the night when their kids are sleeping, including the husbands and the wives. Can I really tell the tale of the American who was so extremely well endowed that it made me cry? Can I really tell the tale about the Swedish guy who made me feel I'd died and gone to heaven? My petty thefts, the thefts of men who were supposed to be committed but thought they had gone suddenly single just because a 20 year old can lure in a 50 year old in a snap? I could, but I'd risk getting kicked outta here. Then again, I guess I could go around it in circles. I'll think about it.