In theory, Sally knows she will not live forever. But how close can she get?

In practice, she doesn’t think of her end, she thinks of her butt. She has to admit, viewed from behind, her spirits are starting to sag. Nothing an expensive pair of jeans won’t fix.

The problem remains. Can she get Ben to fall in love with her without taking off her pants? Because once he is in love, it will be more about what his hands feel than what he sees.

However, Sally knows you have to catch them by the eyes.

She’s spent years refining her wit on a whetstone. Still, she’s never snagged a man by casting a clever turn of phrase. Simple creatures they are, drawn to basic shapes—round ones.

Okay, men can be diverting. But if she gets old, which she plans to do, a man will be of limited use. Better to have a loyal dog for company. A man, however, will come in handy for mechanical tasks. She can park hers in front of the TV or send him out to the park to play chess and grumble about politics with his friends.

If she could catch and keep him, what will beautiful Ben be as he ages? The hair in his nostrils might bristle out and take over his face. She is feeling unkind today. Maybe she could be more charitable if he didn’t have such power to wound her.

She knows already that Ben will not grow old with her. Before her ovals become oblongs he will be seduced by other ripe fruits and run away to make babies as he was meant to do.

She could grow happily old with her dog, a generous allowance, and sharp-tongued friends living within walking distance.

She doesn’t need a good death, that fantasy that everyone seems to be striving for these days. A good-enough death will be fine with her, if she can ever imagine being fine with death.

All that non-being will get tedious, though maybe not as tedious as outliving everyone worth talking to.