This is fine under the "half your age minus seven" guideline
Apparently you people have never read the Rich Dude Over 50 dating math loophole
PS: 
Personally, when I'm flirting with potential wealthy Sugar Mamas on Tinder, I try to make sure they're under 104
But hey, if you're a spry 105+ and want to keep Gigolo Dave happy with bon-bons and Ferraris, who am I to pay attention to age
Your significant other gives you a "free pass" for anybody you want, but they have to be at least 20 years older than you. GO
*me: Lily Langtry
*me: Lily Langtry
I became smitten with Lily Langtry as a wee lad when she sang at the Sioux City Corn Palace. Later, when I ventured to the Klondike, I spent 3 months' gold prospecting money to buy her a bouquet of orchids when she played Soapy Smith's Saloon
It cost 37 ounces of gold to ship them flowers special from San Francisco, but it was plumb worth it. I took 'em to the stage door, but a couple fellers there said Miss Langtry wasn't taking visitors, then they tossed me into a manure pile in the alley
And that's how I broke my back the first time, because manure just ain't that soft at 50 below zero. Them stage door fellers came back out, and I thought, boy howdy I'm gonna meet Lily Langtry, but they were just tossing out my flowers. Seems she weren't so fond of orchids
Maybe it was because I was a wet behind the ears 18-year old gold camp pup, or just natural stubborn, but I was bound and determined to make her mine. I sold my Klondike claim on a ticket to follow her her back to San Francisco, but turns out my boat was headed to China
And that's how I spent the next 8 years as a bucket boy in a Shanghai opium den
Even then I was undeterred, my spirits kept alive by the tintype photograph of Miss Lily Langtry I kept in my pocket watch. I eventually escaped China via the Silk Road during the confusion of the Boxer Rebellion
I'll spare y'all the details of how I bartered my way betwixt Shanghai and Europe, 'cause I'd really rather forget those 16 months. After I arrived in Prussia I dedicated the next year to forging a passport with Kaiser Wilhelm's signature, all the while dreaming of Lily
I eventually stowed away on a tramp steamer in Hamburg, bound for New York, and then rode the rails back to Sioux City. When I got back to the farm, I begged Pa to lend me money to build my own private opera house on the south 80 so's I could invite Miss Langtry to sing there
Maybe it was because he was happy to see me after all those years, but he went ahead and cosigned the loan. And what a fine opera house it was, with velvet curtains and balustrades and a special fine dressing room for the exclusive use of Miss Lily Langtry
Year after year I sent telegrams and letters to Miss Lily, along with photos of the fine opera house I had built for her, upwind from the livestock barn, inviting her to perform there for twice her customary fee. The only reply was from her agent, a thank you $1000 cash advance
The $1000 advance must have slipped Lily's mind, and so Pa had to sell off 30 acres and the dairy cows to repay that bank loan for me. You know what they say, the prettier the songbird, the dizzier the flight
When the Great War broke out, an angry mob from the town came out to the farm and burned down my opera house, after those rumors I was a Hun spy with a German passport in cahoots with Kaiser Billy
As best as I recollect, I couldn't drive the wagon into town without getting pelted with sauerkraut and potatoes until about '21 or '22
Anyhoo, it was about that time Ma and Pa bought a Victrola for the house, but Ma forbade me from buying or playing any Lily Langtry phonograph records on it. I guess when I hocked their prize rooster for one of those records, it was the last straw.
With no place left to go, I thumbed rides all the way to New York City and got myself a job as a busboy in a speakeasy that, according to rumor, Lily Langtry liked to frequent.
Sure enough, one night she strolled right in with a bunch of swells in top hats & tails, looking as radiant as ever. I dropped an entire platter of empty Sazerac glasses and rushed over to introduce myself as her most dedicated fan
"Miss Langtry," I exclaimed, "I've been..." before her entourage laid into me with those diamond-tipped swagger sticks, and by god that smarted worse than the whuppin's I got in Shanghai
I felt almost relieved when those G-Men raided the speakeasy, because them swells stopped with their canes and hustled Miss Langtry out the secret exit. I spent the next 4 years on a chain gang in Sing-Sing for accessory violations of the Volstead Act
Two days after I was paroled from Sing Sing, I read that Miss Langtry had passed away peacefully at her villa in Monaco. I felt pretty bad about that, and also that I had already borrowed $800 from my cellmate Knuckles Gambinelli for a steamer ticket to see her
Anyways, I changed my name after that and used the $800 to partially pay back Ma and Pa. They told me I could live in what was left of the opera house, as long as they would never hear the words "Lily Langtry" again
I guess the moral of this story is don't do drugs
I will henceforth be rededicating my Twitter account as a memoir of my Lily Langtry years
