It’s official. I am an Old Woman. Now, before you start asking questions like, “Was the procedure expensive?” and “Are you on any pain medication?” let me clear something up for you. I’m speaking figuratively, not literally. While I can appreciate the massive amount of publicity this blog would receive if I suddenly announced that I was now a post-op septuagenarian female as much as the next guy, I don’t think I’m quite ready for that level of commitment. Sure, being an Old Woman would come with significant advantages, mainly in the form of fabulous savings thanks to my new found Senior Citizen discount status. But that is neither here nor there. The real reason I feel like an Old Woman is that the other day I did something only an Old Woman would do: offer the mailman a cup of tea. To be fair, it was during a hurricane, and the poor guy was thoroughly sodden. But in hindsight, I think our mailman, who is in his early thirties and looks like somebody who would probably beat me up if we were in high school together, was a little creeped out. Maybe it was the fact that he had already delivered our mail and was halfway down the street when I fumbled with the door handle and blurted “Uhhhhhhscuse me…sir…do you want some tea? Hot cocoa? Tea? Sir?” Maybe it was the fact that I was wearing my slippers and had bits of egg from an extra-sloppy breakfast sandwich all over my face. WE’LL NEVER KNOW. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to plug in my blanket. There’s a Doc Martin Marathon on TV and I want it to be warm by the time it begins.