I believe there are three types of women, one who is flattered by my desire to stare longingly and often at her most attractive assets and wishes to allow certain indulgences there abouts, and the other two classes whom I couldn’t care less about.  Had I devoted my youth to the first class of women early in my life, I could have spent my youth in pursuit of the frivolous pleasures of such fair women rather than those who neither considered my advances important nor acceptable. I would most certainly have attained a scurrilous reputation around town, saving my dear mother the torturous years of wondering whether I would finally obtain a notable standing in the community. Assuming my father’s position as Town Scoundrel certainly would have given my mother better standing in the community. Better to be the mother of a miscreant than married to one, I would think. Yes, given the opportunity to do things over again, I would pursue a misspent youth.


            I do not wish to degrade the value of a sordid mid-life crisis, however. Given the opportunities afforded to the adventurous males of today, lost time can be reclaimed in a most auspicious manner.   The more pliable women of today tend to value age with a certain form of respect. They respect the generous ways of men who have aged well in the pools of wealth. Having an abundance of liquidity will shortly place you on the path of a mid-life liberty more appropriately described as debauchery.


            Having found myself firmly rooted in such mid-life escapades, I find other suitable long term goals and aspirations trivial and mundane. When asked recently by wife if I intended to stretch my mid-life vices into a full blown habits, I offered her the comfort my mother is now enjoying, we have a son whom I am instructing in the manly art of wholesale miscreant. By the time my misdeeds become public knowledge, he will be fully versed in the ways of treachery to society and the world will look upon her as the mother of a womanizer and not the wife of one.  When asked when I would pass the family mantle unto my son,  I pledged the continuation until such time as whiskey, women, and song shall be heard over my coffin and six of my cohorts in mischief shall lower me into that great night.


            “Three days from tomorrow, then?” she asked.