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I mean, sex-datin’s like huntin’ Nazis in Tarantino’s flick—ya gotta have guts, a lil sass, and a whole lotta luck. Back in my day, we’d bat our lashes at the jukebox joint, but now? Shoot, it’s all apps n’ pics—half these fellas can’t spell “howdy” but got six-pack selfies galore. Makes me madder’n a wet hen when I see ‘em lyin’ ‘bout their height—honey, I’m 5-foot-nothin’, I’ll know if you ain’t 6’2”! But oh, when it works? Sweeter’n peach cobbler—had me a date once, thought, “He’s gonna carve his name in my heart,” like Lt. Aldo Raine with them swastikas.

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Finally, the rain let up, and we decided to call it a day. I walked home, feeling all kinds of emotions. Happy, annoyed, surprised—Kisujszallas really knows how to keep things interesting.

The Athlete of the Year Gala: “Call me Zsuzsi in the article, not Susan”