Free Gucci Gucci Coo by Sue Margolis

These days, I sometimes have to…”
    “Dad, please,” Ruby broke in, grimacing, “too much information.”
    “I disagree,” Ronnie said. “Important health issues like this need to be discussed, not swept under the carpet. Society needs educating. People should understand that some men sit down to pee because they have reached middle age and are having problems with their waterworks. Others simply prefer to sit down. What right have women to deny them that choice? For so many men, choosing to pee sitting down is the truth that dare not speak its name and I think it’s about time we got rid of the stigma.”
    “You should write a letter to
The Times,
” Aunty Sylvia said. “You could spark off a national debate.”
    “I hate it when you mock me,” Ronnie came back. “All I’m saying is that—”
    Sensing the onset of sisterly friction, Ruby decided it was time to change the subject. “So, Aunty Sylvia,” Ruby said. “Who was that chap you went out with before Max? I seem to remember he was a biker.”
    “Harley David. God, he was gorgeous. I really fancied him until he took me out on the bike and I saw what was written on the back of his leather jacket. It said, and I quote: ‘If you can read this, the bitch fell off.’ Sexist didn’t begin to describe the man. I spent weeks debating the issue with him. I even bought him
The Female Eunuch
. He just laughed.”
    “Why is it every man you go out with turns out to be a project?” Ronnie said. “You know, I think it has something to do with our father. You couldn’t make him a better person. Then he died and you were forced to give up trying. But you continue the struggle with other men.”
    “Maybe.” Sylvia shrugged.
    “So, tell us about this new chap,” Ronnie said.
    Sylvia put down her wineglass. “Well, his name is Nigel and he’s an independent financial adviser. Believe me, what this man doesn’t know about the best-rated mutual funds and tax efficient portfolio management isn’t worth knowing.”
    Ronnie remarked that he sounded unusually normal and grounded for Sylvia.
    “You’re right. Funny, I hadn’t thought about it.”
    “I think that subconsciously you have decided you’re tired of taking on projects.”
    “So, is he good looking?” Ruby interrupted.
    “I’ll say,” Aunty Sylvia grinned. “He’s tall and slim with these gorgeous gray-blue eyes.”
    “And it’s serious?” Ronnie said.
    “Getting that way.”
    Ronnie asked how old he was. Sylvia responded by taking a glug of wine, then another. “Oh, he’s about my age—a few years younger maybe.”
    Ruby could practically see her mother’s antennae flapping. “So, what are we talking?” Ronnie said. “A couple of years?”
    “A bit more than that, maybe.”
    “How many more?”
    “Ten. Fifteen, maybe. I’m not sure.”
    “Come on—is it ten or is it fifteen?” Ronnie asked, shooting an anxious glance at Phil.
    “Actually, it’s seventeen.”
    “He’s seventeen years younger than you?” Ronnie repeated, her voice rising with disapproval.
    “Coo coo ca choo, Mrs. Lieberman!” Ruby cried. “Wow, good for you. God, my Aunty Sylvia’s got herself a boy toy.”
    “Does he know how old you are?” Ronnie said.
    “Yes. No. Well, sort of. I’ve told him I’m forty-two.”
    “But you’re fifty-four. When are you planning to tell him the truth?”
    Phil tapped his wife’s arm and reminded her this really was Sylvia’s business, but she ignored him.
    “Ronnie, this is so unlike you,” Sylvia said. “You usually see the positive side of everything. I thought you’d be happy for me. For the first time in ages I’m having fun.”
    “I’m sorry. I just don’t want to see you get hurt, that’s all.”
    Sylvia reached out across the table and patted her sister’s hand. “I know I have to tell him my real age,” she said. “And I will when I feel the time is right. Now, please, can we just leave it?” Clearly eager to change the subject, she