Bonny Lasses
December, 1988
We are in a tiny village in the middle of nowhere, Scotland, and the guys are scoping for babes at the local pub. I am helping."There's kind of a Frenchy-looking one," I say to Mike."Her hair's too done; she's wearing too much make-up," he says."Too old," says my son.At which I sniff. Too old, indeed! They should know from old.Old is Pat, my new 83-year-old friend who escorted me to the wine-tasting hillbilly hoedown.This is a hell of a town. Very picturesque, very...
