I was born in America.  I was raised in America.  I possess a distinctly American belief system.  Therefore I'm a Native American by all sense of the term, right?  Then why am I supposed to check Caucasian White on all those damn government forms?

What they mean by Native American is obviously the race of people who were here before Columbus screwed their lives up or some guy named Amerigo Vespucci won the naming pool.  We call them the American Indian, even though Columbus missed India by about 10,000 miles.

In the American South, we are raised with manners as a matter of breeding.  We are taught to hold open doors for complete strangers, help those in need and say thanks to everyone for everything.  And I do mean everyone for everything.

A few years ago, I was driving about 74 in a 55 during a rainstorm in Marlboro County, South Carolina, on my way back from Myrtle Beach.  A cop stopped me and asked me the most original question, "Do you know how fast you were going?"

It's as simple as that.  This article could end right now and you'd all know what I meant without me having to go into it.  But where's the fun in that?

Whatever intelligence edge or business advantage men believe they have in this world, it disappears when faced with a nice set of boob cleavage.  A man could be at the top of his game in the prime of his concentration and totally break down, drooling all over himself, if confronted with a set of Double D's and a low v-neck.

Cleavage is the colossal equalizer, the secret password, the greatest feminist weapon ever invented.  Cleavage overpowers the strength of the penis ten times out of ten.  Even bad cleavage is as mighty as a chunk of Kryptonite.

I turned thirty-six about a month ago and as you can tell from my blog, I consider myself officially getting old. Well, middle aged at least. Thinning hair and aching joints have become priorities, which I think are a decent indication that any "Boy Toy" status I might could have achieved, has vanished.

Forever.

 I've dated older women before, some of which were old enough to have birthed me.  My favorite decade of music is the 60s, before I was even born.  I love old house architecture and old cars and I've always been pretty mature for my age.  So I guess that sort of explains the mutual attraction between me and older women.

And lately I've had older women flirt with me in ways that could only mean they were interested.  Only now, older means a ten year difference rather than twenty.  What is it about women in their forties that dig me?