Every few weeks I get together with a few of my boisterous, out-of-control friends and take the mini-van to a local pizza joint where we can OD on Coke Zero and ogle the far-too-young and tasty serving wenches as they lean purposely over the table to deliver a Green Goddess side-salad and accidentally clench their butt cheeks in an enticing way.

But the truth be known, the young women serving the tables are doing nothing extraordinary and their shorts are no more revealing that my shorts … they just reveal something I vaguely remember lusting after in my salad days. They are not advertising their bodies; I am just a cliché: the quintessential dirty old man.

Still, one of the old codgers at the table turns to watch our server walk away and announces for all to hear: “What a nice ass!”

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