We’re all single gals. Joyce and I are widows (having lost my Henry and Joyce, her Dave), Ruby and Cloe are divorced (from two “slime bag womanizers”), and Iris has never married. Most of us are slightly heavily packed, except for Iris, who wears a size two. We’ve all tried to fatten her up by suggesting various calorie-laden savories that Bernie’s is known for. In spite of our efforts, she sticks to her toast and coffee and never waivers. The rest of us are not as disciplined. And we have the butts and bellies to prove it.

As usual, the subject of the discussion this Saturday morning was our experiences with the opposite sex. What else would be as more interesting than a good chocolate cake or hot fudge sundae? All of us have one common goal—“to find good men.” We were learning one discouraging fact: the 21st century single scene bears no resemblance to the “good old days” when we five were carefree college dorm-mates fighting for the telephone in the hall. Times certainly have changed.

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