Beware the pen pal. He reached out across the vast Tinder wasteland and said he liked my profile and could I meet him for breakfast? This was some years ago and he, in Palm Springs on vacation, had posted photos of himself looking as pure and smooth as a well-aged Canadian whiskey, a guy who could’ve had an Olympic pedigree with his tall, lanky physique, chiseled jaw and mop of silver hair that begged to be touched. I couldn’t make a date work with my full schedule, but he parted... Read More