As a newly single woman in my 50s in Los Angeles, I was terrified. I’d been married so long that the last time I’d heard the words "sexy" and "hot" was when I’d ordered sea bass in a spicy shiitake broth. I hadn’t been nipped, tucked, suctioned, filled or augmented. I figured I stood a better chance of being hit by lightning than hit on by a good-looking guy. Understandably my girlfriends were getting weary of my “I’m going to die alone” attitude so they dragged me out to have some fun, which I... Read this story
