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Don’t do it, fellas. Resist the temptation. A younger woman is a temporary oasis, nothing more. In the long run, she will cause more sorrow than the sum of all pleasure she can possibly offer. Blame it on technology, says a friend of mine who just ended a relationship with a woman five years his junior.

“With my active Facebook postings, I thought I was bleeding edge,” Nestor told me one morning over soy lattes and gluten-free muffins. “All of a sudden, she dropped off Facebook and started tweeting forty times a day. Every snack and change of position on her couch was documented. At first, I thought it was self-indulgent.”

“Just a wee bit, maybe?” I couldn’t’ help myself.

“Yeah, but I grew to appreciate the sublime beauty of one hundred forty characters. Pretty soon, I was giving her real-time updates on having my eyeglasses adjusted at LensCrafters. A whole new world opened up, but then Twitter gave way to Pinterest. I started getting alerts with things that Erin might like to receive as a gift. Don’t get me wrong, I have no problem sending URLs for birthday or Christmas ideas. But Pinterest? Life is too short to register for a new web site every day of your life.”

To calm him down, I related how one of my girlfriends thought I lived in the Stone Age because she got her news from NPR, while I still devoured the daily newspaper. “But I had the last laugh,” I said. “I was downloading music while she was still collecting compact discs. Try to stay one step ahead of her. Find the next!”

“I thought I did that when I got a Pandora account,” Nestor replied. “She came over one day and I showed her all the stations I created. Showed her how to vote thumbs up or thumbs down to a track – even how to add variety to a station. She seemed mildly interested, but I could tell I wasn’t impressing her. At her apartment the next night, she introduced me to Spotify. My, Lord! You pick an artist and can listen to almost everything they recorded. Wanna hear Murray Head’s first album? Go to Spotify. Wanna hear the complete organ works of Johann Sebastian Bach? Go to Spotify.”

“It’s not fair,” I said. “You shouldn’t have to keep migrating to new technology platforms to sustain a relationship. It used to be about the flesh.”

Nestor laughed. “Well, I lost interest in her flesh when she excused herself to check on the kale and squash casserole. I know I shouldn’t have done it, but I pressed her Spotify back arrow.”

“Oh, no! Don’t tell me…”

“Cher pops up. I kid you not. So, I press the back arrow again.”

“You have to, at that point.”

“Cher is preceded by Mariah Carey, then Christina Aguilera, Elton John, the Spice Girls, N Sync and the Bay City Rollers.”

“The Scottish guys with the blow-dried haircuts? From the Seventies?”

“The same.”

“Did you say anything when she came back?”

“Oh, yes! Yes, indeed. I clicked ahead to Cher, looked her square in the eyes and said, ‘Porn, I can understand. But, Cher? I thought I knew you.’ And just like that, it was over. Six months of kissing, a little penetrating, and way too many electrons.”

“Cher?”

“Yes. Cher! Apparently, she’s still alive and putting out new music.”

“That’s a shitty use of the internet.”

“Yes, but who are we to judge?”

The story ends here, but the larger issue remains…

Joe Fumo is a Milwaukee-area business writing consultant who has published two humorous fiction collections: “God’s Web Site” and “Things To Do This Week” (purchasable on Amazon.com) He has been a newspaper reporter, corporate newsletter editor and public relations account representative. Thus, the need to write silly pieces.

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