Hiya, boys. I am a feisty 71-years-young, with a lot of love left to give. Apparently too much, if my husbands are any measure. I recently buried my 4th one, and I've got no time to sit around grieving. As long as the universe keeps sending them to me, I'll keep outliving them.
I'm not too particular about my men either. My first husband was tall and thin and died in the war. My second was short and husky and passed on after a doozy of a heart attack. My third—well, to be totally honest, I don't rightly recollect what he looked like. We never spent much time together as he was in an iron lung for most of our marriage. Anywho, he finally kicked it after 6 years. And my last one was a muscular type who died of a rare blood disease. So what I'm saying is that I'm not picky about what you look like or what sort of condition you're in, so long as you're comfortable with the fact that you are going to die while you're with me, and you probably won't be the last.
Give me a call if you're ready to roll the dice. XOXO