Back in the late eighties, I worked at a gas station owned by an Irish lady named Sheelagh. What usually happened, when I worked with her, was that I did the work and she talked to a steady stream of men all day long. I was fascinated by this, because although she was friendly and sweet, she wasn't tremendously good-looking, being rather short and brassy.

Yesterday, on my way home from work, I was thinking about my day. In the morning, Charlie and Al who walk the mall and two or three bus drivers and David who plays Keno came and talked to me. There's a boat show happening at the mall, and the guy who's supposed to be selling the boats came by at regular intervals and talked to me. At lunch time, some old guys stopped and talked to me about the boats. In the afternoon, John from the courier company and Tony from the debit machine company both stopped to talk to me. And Chris, who has an hour to kill between buses most afternoons. In between times, all my regular little old men came and I gave them candy because it was Valentine's day. I had a couple of little conversations with women, but mostly, it was men.

So what happens when women get to be 35? None of the men who used to come and talk to Sheelagh were ever interested in talking to me, when I was 20. And, like Sheelagh, I don't have any illusions that I'm good-looking, in fact I'm snaggletoothed and short, and it can't be my boobs cos I hardly have any...

Anyway. Back to crime statistics.