Forget about the gifts, just leave me the Santa! 

Move over, little girlies: he’s too old for you. But just right for me. He can sneak into my room anytime and … you know the rest of that joke.

At last – some age appropriate eye-candy for the mature woman. Because there is something desperately sad (or should that be sadly desperate) about a woman drooling all down her wobbly crepe-paper cleavage over a man young enough to be her son (imagine the sex – the phrase “reverse birth” comes to mind).

The view from the mid-life window just got interesting. But now that it’s ok to admit that I’m not dead from the neck down yet I have a dilemma – do I hang my stockings up this Christmas Eve, or wear them?

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