I edged toward 40 the way a person finishes a marathon, legs cramping, lungs burning, too depleted to feel triumphant. Before I started coming here, I thought a turtle’s shell was a borrowed house it would outgrow and leave behind. Most people don’t know that if you gently scratch a turtle’s shell with your fingertips, across its domed hump, something happens that the keepers call finching. No flirting, sex, scrolling or swiping. The post No More Sex, Flirting, Scrolling or Swiping appeared first on New York Times.