A number of years ago, I was watching Lizzie McGuire on the Family Channel (sadly, it is not a large enough number of years ago to make that admission anything other than a little bit humiliating) and Mike confessed to me that he realized he was getting older because he found the mother on the show kind of hot.  I had two similar experiences recently that made me wonder if, not only am I maturing, but I am rapidly turning into a baby boomer (not that there’s anything wrong with that).

Mike and I have been watching Buffy the Vampire Slayer from the beginning.  We’ve been at it since Christmas and a few weeks ago, we rounded the corner into Season 4.  For those uneducated in the wheres and whyfores of Buffy, there are a few male characters for whom you are supposed to yearn to varying degrees:  Angel, the brooding sexy tortured vampire; Spike, a vampire that would be best described as the love child of Sid Vicious and Billy Idol; and Xander, the adorable yet awkward guy who gets all the good lines but none of the hot girls.  There is also the librarian.  He is British, and pedantic, and wears terrible three-piece suits, and up until I saw him perform a soulful, dreamy, acoustic version of a song by The Who, I was not particularly interested in his character.  Now, I’m afraid he would be fairly close to the top of my list of Celebrities I Would Like To Date, If My Life Were Significantly Different Than It Is Right Now.

As if a thing for stuffy (fictitious) British librarians wasn’t bad enough,  I apparently also have a thing for aging folk singers.  This weekend, I had a dream that my uncle introduced me to Paul Simon and he kissed me (Paul Simon, I mean, not my uncle).  In my defense, when I told Dream Mike about the illicit lip-lock, I at least had the good taste to remind him that it could have been worse:  it could have been Art Garfunkel.