God Save the Sweet Potato Queens by Jill Conner Browne

bad hearts, thick cataracts) and (2) Tammy’s daddy was buying. Well, we just fell in love with the place. The food is absolutely fabulous and—even better—they insist that you eat practically all day every day, which, of course, perfectly coincides with our personal preference. They have everything a spa has, but everybody on staff is an M.D. or a Ph.D., and so not only will you not be exposed to any idiotic crackpot exercise/diet fads, but you will actually come away with a pretty decent education in how to save your own life. Plus, it’s in the Loew’s Hotel—gorgeous—smack on Santa Monica Beach, and you can walk or bike or Rollerblade down to Venice every day to goon the weirdos and the bodybuilders. So we love the place and now we go every year at Labor Day.
    This particular trip turned out—as so many of our excursions do—to be a Mission Trip. We made two new friends for life—Katie Dezember, a mere child from Bakersfield, and Charlie McGreevy from NYC. Although he didn’t appear to have cataracts, he did meet our other criteria, which we shared with him. He was so happy with himself. It never occurred to him before he came to Pritikin that being slightly older and having a somewhat weakened heart would be such a boon to his social life. He was well aware that being rich was a definite asset. Having perked up Charlie considerably just by picking him as our boyfriend for the week, the three of us, Tammy, Charlie, and I, undertook the education of young Katie. Tammy and I explained to her the many reasons why she should be looking for a man just like Charlie, although we advised her that we had spoken for Charlie himself, and she dare not cross that line. We saw right off what a quick study she was going to be by how fast she grasped that concept. Charlie was deliriously happy to find himself the center of attention and the sole object of desire for not one, not two, but three young and luscious women—although one was admittedly much younger, their luscious quotients were fairly equal.
    He was most eager to contribute to young Katie’s education, particularly on the topic of the desirability of older men, and he spoke most earnestly to her about it. “Well, it even says so in the Bible!” he assured her. Since he couldn’t quote the chapter and verse, I consulted our utmost authority on all matters, especially spiritual and sexual, Professor Larry L. King. (One of the best things that has happened to me as a result of the publication of
SPQBOL
is that I have gotten to meet some other writers—real writers, I like to call them. Larry L. King, who wrote
The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas
and a whole bunch of other equally fine stuff, has become a regular mentor to me. Of course, I know he only pays attention to me because I bandy the Promise about so freely, but hey, that’s what it’s for, after all. And his cute wife, the lawyer Blaine, does her best to keep us in separate states.) And Larry L., of course, knew right off the top of his head the precise passage that Charlie was referring to: “And Ashael sayeth to a maiden of tender years, Seekest thou a Man of Age; and though his eyes may weep plumgum and his hoary head be of white, fear not when he is yet full of moisture, seed, and heart. Take him to lie with, for surely he will comfort thee beyond all others and make thee exceedingly glad.” Hezekiah 14:9. (This is found only in the newly revised Bible for Lechers and Other Fun-Loving Folks, most of which was personally written by ’Fessor King his ownself.)

    The age factor continues to be a major point of discussion in the dating dilemma. Some folks are adamantly opposed to dating persons younger than themselves, while others don’t care if their dates only recently grew their complete set of molars. I would have to say that there are more women who prefer older men than there are men holding out for older women, but it does happen. Happens to us all the time, of course, because men of all