You could call The Idea of You (Amazon Prime, 5.2) a May-December romance, but it’s more like a June-September thang.

In actuality Anne Hathaway, a Scorpio born on my birthday (11.12), is now 41 years old. In the film Hathaway’s boy-toy boyfriend, Nicholas Galitzine‘s “Hayes Campbell”, is supposed to be 24 but is actually 29.

Okay, a 12-year age gap but when I was in my early 20s I had a thing for 30something women, as I had this belief they were better in bed. That wasn’t nececssarily true, I discovered, but I still liked older.

We know how these stories always end, but don’t let me spoil it.

Directed by Michael Showalter (The Big Sick) and based on the same-titled novel by Robinne Lee.

A day or two ago I was inquiring about my iPhone 15 at the local Apple store. It was only a couple of minutes after opening, and there were maybe nine or ten store reps in their royal-blue T-shirts, all looking at me and ready to help.

You never know in advance if the person you’re about to speak to is a tip-top brainiac. Most of them are reasonably bright and always generous in spirit but they rarely know everything, and more often than not they’ll pass along information that they “think” is probably correct, often adding “let me check…hold on.” And that’s fine.

But I knew I’d lucked out when I began talking to a 20something store rep with a knitted skull cap. First of all guys who wear skull caps tend to be ultra-focused in a nerdball way. But I knew this dude was a genius because he pointedly didn’t make eye contact. Right away I said to myself “that’s an Asperger’s thing…this guy is Albert Einstein-y.”

And he pretty much was, as it turned out. Not once did this guy even glance in the direction of my pupils. The whole time he was looking at the tabletop or the belt on my jeans or the fringe tip of my wool scarf. And he was fucking brilliant. It was hugely pleasurable to converse with him.

The vast majority of people in customer service focus on smiling and nicey-nice-ing and emotional caressings, and that’s fine. But when a slightly dysfunctional Genius Bar-type guy comes along, I smile inside and say a little prayer of thanks.

I can’t abide people who repeatedly say “uhm” in the middle of long explanations or statements or descriptions.

Once they start doing this I immediately stop listening to the substance of what they’re saying and start waiting for their next “uhm.” I don’t want to hear it but at the same time I do.

When the next “uhm” comes along I roll my eyes and let out a slight cough. The more they say “uhm” the stronger my telepathic message: “Stop doing this…say what you need to say without saying ‘uhm’….you’re killing me and yourself in the bargain…dear God, stop it.”

And then they say it again.

“Uhm” is a filler word — a word that signifies (a) you’re a clod and (b) you’re mulling over and preparing your next phrase or sentence.

Okay, I’ll occasionally use “uhhh” as a pause word, but I decided decades ago to never, ever say “uhm.” Or “like” — only idiots say “like” all the time.

I also say “basically” from time to time, but I never say it like a Millennial or Zoomer — “bayziggly.”

Lincoln’s Gettysburg address: “Uhm…four score and seven years ago our fathers…uhm…our fathers brought forth on this continent…uhm…a new nation, conceived in Liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that…uhm, all men are created equal.”