Reactions to Not Too Shabby; A Death; Feminism; the Decision to Give up Being a Sexual Being at the Ripe Old Age of 74

The day began again in the Lower Lobby of the Trump International Hotel. CCC was temporarily missing in action so Newlywed and I had the following conversation.
Me: Did I tell you of my miraculous find? 
Newlywed: What if I said yes?
Me: I will just tell you again. 
So my miraculous find is H &M which is a place that sells clothes located in the Pacific Center  just blocks away. But what made it truly miraculous is that I discovered Sylvia who marched up to me and asked if she could help me. 
Me: Yes please, I find this place so confusing. 
Sylvia: So I will help you and I am always here and I will always help you. 
Sylvia actually is the manager of the store and I really like her. I bought a shirt to go under a new top, another pair of navy blue leggings (lost my prior pair somewhere) and a pink shirt to wear when I train with Hottie. I wore it yesterday and he just loved the color on me. So we were outside (because I hate gyms) and I was slaving away with the stairs, the sit stands and the push ups and the walkabouts. There was a huge commotion, yellow tape, thousands of police officers and everything. So I went and asked what was going on. I was excitedly telling the story to Newlywed, not allowing (in my usual fashion) any interruption. 
Newlywed: I do not even need to talk. 
Me: Then please don’t. 
What I was going to tell her is that Hottie sent me a link to explain what we had encountered the day before. There was a tragic accident on the movie set and a stunt rider was killed when she ran into a window of Starbucks at Canada Place. I asked them what was going on and they said they could not tell me. 
Me: Why? 
Police person: You are perfectly safe. 
Me: How can I believe that when you are not telling me what is going on in the first place? It sounds like a cover up to me. 
Hottie: Let’s get going and get out of here. 
Me: Good idea Hottie. Lets get a move on. 
But back to yesterday’s blog which featured my amazing statistics. Prior to writing the blog and having it posted I sent the numbers to various and sundry friends – 26 in number, I do believe. It is fascinating to note who I heard from and from whom I did not. CCC, as noted in the prior blog, was the swiftest and the surest but his was quickly followed by one who charmingly said: “Congrats. You do have a great command of the English language.” That did cause me to swoon. My wonderful Mario wrote: My dear Lexie: NOW HOW GREAT IS THAT?!?! I hope it reassures you to know I am one of the “regulars”. For me it is my bed time story that I read just prior to sleep and after studying my DUOLINGO Italian. Here it is the same ole, same ole with no rich men and luxurious hotels. (Mario is the one man who gets to call me Lexie, well he and Glo.) and after studying my DUOLINGO Italian. One great big kiss, Mario.’  The Emperor did an analysis finishing his comments with “Good job” Pooja, my London pal wrote: “Wow amazing! Well done xx”. ‘Sister’ Adele: “Wow – impressed!” Jenn wrote: “WOW!! Not too shabby at all!!  Congratulations!  Who knew when you started this how popular you’d be!  But as an avid reader and fan, I can readily understand the interest!  I love your blog and apparently I’m not alone in that feeling!” 
But that was pretty well it. Tens did not respond. But am I wallowing in self pity? I guess not. Look at those absolutely wonderful people that did respond including the World’s Busiest Man. 
At lunch the other day my luncheon companion blamed “feminists” for a certain phenomena. I was being my gracious self. although wondered silently what he thought I was. Because I have this sage quote from Marie Shear in my room on the 19th floor of the Trump International Hotel “Feminism is the radical notion that women are human beings.” But the conversation made me think. The best relationships I have with men are ones where they recognize me as a human being. Not a woman. So it is best to stifle my sexual feelings towards the men my life. It won’t be hard actually – strange choice of words that. Hard. 

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