“Men are like wine – some turn to vinegar,
but the best improve with age.”

Well, Gmamma saw this coming a mile away …

“They’re just waiting for me to keel over,” she deadpanned with her trademark eye roll. My mother, may she rest in peace, was referring to the gaggle of widows at The Home as they flocked around DooDaddy.

Of course, the odds were ever in his favor. My father, himself, once said, “If you still have your own teeth and own a tuxedo, you’re a catch, after a certain age.”

Now he doesn’t even need the tuxedo to be designated a “Hunk of Shannondale.” What’s next? A Geezer of the Month Calendar?

Truth be told, I’m biased, because I think DooDaddy is adorable. And he’s funny as hell, according to GrandBud, leader of the ROMEOs (Retired Old Men Eating Out), may he rest in peace. DooDaddy’s also a pretty good bridge player, except for when he nods off in the middle of a hand. There was a brief period after his stroke, when he couldn’t make any sense of the cards at all but bluffed his way through it. “I opened up my hand and looked at the cards, and they looked back at me, and I didn’t have the faintest idea what to do,” he famously said at the time. “So I just passed.”

DooDaddy is well read and up on things, particularly politics, although I don’t think that tipped the scales in favor of his Hunk status, as all the cotton tops at Shannondale are at the opposite end of the political spectrum.

He’s mentally and physically fit(ish) with exercise class three times a week and daily crosswording, not to mention religiously counting his carbs.

He’s a joiner. Friday Afternoon Bridge. Tuesday Night Bingo. Saturday Morning Prayer Breakfast and Sunday Night Church. Vice President of the Residents’ Council and all that entails – the geezers are forever signing petitions and demanding rights. You’d think they were prisoners at Gitmo instead of residents at a fairly posh retirement home.

Then there’s the distinguished mustache. And he’s a skilled raconteur. With a thick-as-honey Middle Tennessee accent.

So it was only a matter of time until his geriatric hunkiness was duly noted.

When you’re 86(ish), you don’t even need a cool car and a letterman jacket to be a stud. A sturdy walker with tennis balls and a comfy cardigan will do just fine.


DooDaddy, the reluctant hunk