I was sitting with a group of old girlfriends; old being the operative word. We meet at each other's home, with our husbands, four times a year. Weather permitting, the men play golf while the women stay behind, wolfing down chips, nuts, cheese and crackers and kvetching about how impossible it is to lose weight.
I suddenly thought that maybe this was my mother crying out for help. Maybe she's selling Viagra on the side, living undercover in Madrid, or trying to set up an adoption. The other reality might be one of the scariest things that can happen to tech-savvy elderly parents: getting hijacked on their computers.
In researching my book, I asked men about performance issues. What happens in your head when you can't get it up? How does it become (as I've heard it can be) a self-perpetuating problem? I'm close to literally a dozen fine, garrulous older men. But when I broached this topic, every one of them turned red and stammered and then was struck mute.