My esteemed father is currently in the hospital. In his mid-80's, and with a whole list of non-trivial medical conditions, he may not be coming out of the hospital. And yet, amazingly, he's still the original horndog - flirting with every female nurse/technician/orderly who comes into his room.
All I can do is shake my head. The body may be pathetically weak, but the spirit is still raring to go. Part of me wishes he would stop it and be a little more dignified - but another part of me just smiles and accepts it. Because it's who he is. And if any of those ladies showed half an interest, I'm sure he'd be more than happy to give it his best shot, right there in the hospital bed.
I guess I should have called myself Mystic Satyr, Jr. Because I got both the horndog and the contemplative genes from him. The apple has not fallen far from the tree.