Hey Oprah! Here's an idea for your program

With this one great idea, I plan to solve social problems that plague both sexes and even save a business some money.

Got your attention? Good.

Last week I was watching Oprah. A matchmaker was a guest on her program, and the matchmaker was dispensing advice about why it's so difficult for single women in their 30s, 40s and up to find men to date.

Never mind supply and demand issues, this woman said that one problem women have is that men have a problem with independent, competent women. Men like to feel needed, she said, so she advises women — her words here — "Let him open the pickle jar."

Now that got me to thinking. I can handle a pickle jar, but what I really want from a man is for him to pump gas into my car. I miss full service gas stations. I've heard other women say the same thing. They can pump their own gas; they'd just rather not.

Then it hit me like a falling pyramid of oil cans: why don't older single men who are interested in meeting a nice single woman hang around gas stations, convenience stores, anywhere gas is sold, and offer to pump gas whenever they see a woman they'd like to meet.

There is no down side to this. If a woman wants her gas pumped all she has to do is accept the offer. But if she isn't interested in the gentleman she is under no obligation.

The guy can check out the woman, chat with her, and if he's interested he can ask for her phone number, and if he isn't — well, then he's done something nice for a stranger and the woman has her car filled. At least pumping gas and getting turned down is a lot easier than walking across a room to ask for a dance and getting turned down.

If she's interested and he isn't, all she has to do is drive away and no one will see her disappointment. But she can comfort herself knowing that the jerk who can't notice a prize when he sees her at least filled her gas tank.

For women who like pumping their own gas, all it takes is a polite, no thanks. The guy moves on to the next woman he might want to meet, or he can chat up the first one while she's pumping gas into her car, if that doesn't threaten his ego.

Ideally, the two chat a bit while he's holding onto the pump handle, and if they click, well great. They might not otherwise have met. He feels needed and she doesn't smell like gasoline for the rest of the day instead of like Chanel. If they're really clicking, he can prolong the visit by checking her oil and tires and wiping down the windshield.

It's a win/win situation.

The money savings? While the guys are hanging around the gas pumps looking to meet women, they would also deter those who pump and leave without paying. Business owners ought to take this idea and run with it, provide incentives for lonely guys to hang around and bring in lonely women customers.

OK Oprah, whattya think?

Independence Day and buffalo toenails

Every now and then something comes at you sideways. You're just bebopping along, and then WHAM! Where did that come from?

It never really occurred to me until just recently that a whole generation of people, maybe even two, weren't here to celebrate the bicentennial. I remember the bicentennial. I even remember a joke about the bicentennial: What do you get when you trim the hooves of 444 buffalo? 1776 bison toenails.

I never really thought about it, but it's been 30 years since the bicentennial. That makes me feel old. However, on the eve of Independence Day, I am staging my own revolution. And I can be pretty revolting.

I declare independence from any young twit who thinks the bicentennial is ancient history. It seems to me like just yesterday.

I declare independence from any notion that someone who's been around as many blocks as I have should sit down and tend to her knitting. I never did learn how to knit. I ain't gonna learn it now. And you know I'm not talking about long needles and yarn.

I demand the independence to say what I think. Really, that isn't necessary. When a woman of a certain age says what she thinks, three things can happen: 1) someone says, oh, she's just old. 2) Someone else says, oh isn't that cute/shocking/scandalous what that old lady said? 3) Nothing because no one pays attention to anyone older than 30.

I declare independence from having to trust anyone under 30. It used to be never trust anyone over 30, but like my bustline, that's shifted.

I declare independence from being called "young lady." I'm NOT a young lady, dammit, I am old enough to command respect. And why do you think it's necessary for me to think I'm young, or for you to think I'm not old, so you patronize me by calling me young lady?

If you can't remember my name, call me ma'am. And I'll kneecap any little twerp that calls me old lady.

So there!

I long for independence from invisibility. To certain older gentlemen who I've on occasion noticed checking me out, thanks! I needed that. And if you were looking because I had a hanging booger, then thank you for letting me think it was for that other reason.

There are no doubt other reasons to declare independence from or to, but right now I'm declaring independence from having to think about this. I need a nap.