Dear old and desperate men: The young folks may be running around in their rompers and daisy dukes and flimsy summer dresses, but these mating colors aren't for you. And to the particular rockabilly greaser who ruined my iced coffee this morning: You didn't even ask before sitting down next to me, and I didn't treat myself to this expensive coffee for the opportunity to hang out with you. Your 9 MPG geezermobile doesn't impress me. Maybe my politeness encouraged you to slide in such comments as, "I like your blouse," and "Wow, you're tan," but my body language and monosyllabic replies should have sent a clear message. Was when you mentioned "my parents," and I countered by mentioning "my grandparents" not blunt enough? Apparently not. So, like a grizzled, syphilitic jackal, please limp back to whatever watering hole will give you an AARP discount. Or, if you are determined to waste the time of pretty girls, know that you should at least throw in a free drink with the sexual harassment.—Anonymous