I went to 8 a.m. mass on Sunday in order to deliver a birthday gift to a friend. Yes, it was really the only reason I went. I sat in the back basking in the air-conditioning breathing in that smell of candle wax I love so much.

My friend, who sits front row center like she’s at a matinee, didn’t know I was there. I figured I’d surprise her at the end along with holding onto the option to leave if need be.

Hey, you never know when a girl may require a quick exit.

Naturally compared to everyone except for two women who looked sensational and no, my pal in her Nikes wasn’t one of them, I was overdressed. I’m from the school of, you don’t wear shorts and T-shirts to mass, even if you’re no longer a member of the team.

It’s as though my grandmother hands me a hanger whenever I open the closet door. “Wear this, and take a sweater to throw over those bare arms.” She was really against going sleeveless until Jackie Kennedy went to mass in Hyannis Port wearing a little pastel sheath. Of course she also wore a mantilla but that’s when I put my foot down.

NO NO NO!!! I am not putting a spiderweb on my head and that’s that.

Won that round.

While the interminable service was droning on, there was a couple seated directly behind me. A little blonde with a pony-tail, denimed from head to toe along with her very tall fella.

Sounds sweet, I know, but she talked to him nonstop which under normal circumstances would have been entertaining especially at homily time me but it was what she talked about. She had an agenda it seemed through 2015 that she felt the need to recite like an endless lament. At one point I turned around to show my dismay when I saw how she was holding on to him for dear life. Then she kept whispering, “You okay, you okay, you okay?” taking attentiveness to new heights. They looked welded together like one of those copper sculptures you find in a shrink’s office. Like, loosen that grip honey, please.

What did she think, one quick look at her missal and he’d run out the front door? He was like a big fish she caught that hadn’t been thoroughly filleted yet.

It got me thinking…

Women do that, I’ve done that, held on too tightly till the guy would start to gasp. It’s such a turn off even to simply observe, the way I was right there in pew 24.

To put it simply, this was a hostage situation.

When they got up to go to communion she made him go first so she could watch him? Something tells me it wasn’t just about his cute butt. He was a nice looking guy in his 30s wearing khakis and a white shirt. I looked for leg irons peeking beneath his cuffs but didn’t see any.

Yes, I jest but if women only knew that’s no way to hold on to a man.

What do I suggest?

Not boobs and a pie plate, that’s for sure.

Shine, that’s how. Nothing is more attractive than a woman who has her own aura going for her. That would be a gal who’s happy within herself, doing what she loves – being able to love without strangling or cutting off her beloved’s air supply.

I can just hear her explaining before the judge. “I thought he was turning that red due to sun.”

If you stay in your own lane so to speak, they want to see you because believe me, there’s nothing sexy about showing up because there’s a gun to your head.

Maybe you need to be over a half century old to get that. She was in her late 20s and had marriage and commitment written all over her. Her catch, on the other hand, looked shell-shocked. I kept mouthing the word, run, but I guess he couldn’t read lips.

My eye twitched watching them come back down the aisle.

It was one of those rare moments when being older felt good.

To be that age and so desperate for another to dot my i’s and cross my t’s is so behind me.

Who ever thought I’d be applauding age.

There’s an upside to everything, now isn’t there?