inactive profile

I told a bad lie Ms Fitzy. I ain't 41. I'm 48. Sorry, writes the botoxed catholic who built his own beach shack. i wake to this email. it's almost as bad as killing a native cockroach first thing in the morning.

so many holey lives, captured on swinging bridges or waterskis. in helmets and coffee shops. i look past the doorway, past the glass of red and diamond knit jumper into the bare room behind. follow a smile to the woman cropped out of the picture. scroll past the guy who likes blizzards, the one who promises to take me skiing. settle for a sec on the middle-aged ambo, his face a colour that discloses how often he really drinks. the sadness in the potbelly. soft Donna from dromana hand-feeding a big cat.

I have competing teams batting for me - one says everyone lies about their age on here and the other says that if you tell a lie about something like that, people will think you'll lie about anything. Argh. Anyway, if you can forgive me I'd love to stay in contact. If not, I understand. 

rsvp aint a confession booth, christo. you're best to go to God for your penance.