Culling the Herd

The last two evenings were nice, stay at homers in our empty nest. Last night we even squeezed in a bike ride. But as Slave preped dinner and watched our local baseball squad fritter a way two chances to move on in the play-offs, Mistress was wrapped up in the amusing game of culling down the babbling herd of Ashley Madison callers.

It certainly brought to mind the comparably high skill set of the long lost Riff Dog, and his blog about how to master the very Darwinian world of on-line match making for the married set.

My guess is that when that fetching photo of Mistress's legs popped up again on AM Sunday morning, alarms went off in the baser confines of male AM addicts throughout our River Valley.  By Monday AM, Mistress's inbox was full of a variety of messages, winks, "you have an admirer" notices, and keys to "private showcases" (i.e. photos, usually lame, too often taken in a bathroom mirror so you can see the camera in their hand).

Rest assured that Mistress can be rather ruthless in quickly discarding most of these pretenders, to build a much shorter list of potential contenders.

 She sticks to her height restriction ("at least 6' Slave, because tat means they are really 5'10"".)  Plus " I hate to be superficial, but some photos ... well, I know it when I see it.")

And there are certain communication standards that can get you sent to the "trash".

Like typing "chow" as a sign off, rather than the proper Italian spelling.

Or maybe pointing out that you don't love your wife, which somehow explains why you're coming on to mine.

Mistress has been a little more elastic when it comes to age though. Tuesday night, as my team booted away the game in the 10th, she was flirtatiously chatting via Ymail with a lawyer from south of here who was only 42.

"Would that make me a cougar, Slave...."

"I'd think so, Mistress.... but who's to complain? You could certainly hold your own with a 30 year old, though I'm not sure most 30 year olds would know what to do with you. It takes some experience and know  how."

And there seems to be a few who might make the cut who live out of town, but travel here regularly for business.

"That might be interesting, Slave.... with hotel rooms I wouldn't have to worry about whether someone ever cleans their bathrooms. "

It's obvious that some of these folks are clearly looking for "daytime nooky", that doesn't fit with Mistress's busy work schedule. One potential contender got cut last night when it became clear he only was available during business hours.

"He needs a bored housewife, Slave. Not me."

Last night, as I was grilling some flank steak, we made up a spread sheet to keep the current list of contenders straight, featuring columns for name, location, age, size and "amusing characteristics", such as profession, ethnicity, etc.  There's the "Italian", from out of town; the "Swimmer" (who apparently was one of 70 or so swimmers that accompanied Molly a few weeks ago on her Rover swim); The "artist"; and the "Lawyer/musician".

Mistress's dance card could be pretty full by the time we return late next week from a trip we are taking to California on Friday.