Today I went to Wal-Mart for my weekly visit. On a whim I wandered into the clothing section to see if the sweatpants and shirts might be on sale. Since we’re near the end of the harshest winter in my memory, my uniform (aka my sweat wardrobe) is permanently tattooed with chili stains and puppy throw up. (Feeding the left over chili to pets is never a good idea.)
Indeed, the sweats were on sale. (I’ve been watching a lot of British television on Netflix and have adopted a slight British accent and say things like “indeed” when agreeing with
Boy, the weather is really jerking us around, isn’t it? February is mean that way – cold, damp and desolate one day, then sunny and warm the next.
A group of my “over 50” cronies were discussing our fascinating lives over coffee the other day.
Two had just returned from a trip to Italy, one had been cross-country skiing in Wyoming, and the oldest one in the group had just placed first in his age bracket in a half marathon.
Me? I had nothing. My big adventure was a
I guess I’m having a midlife crisis – okay hush you skeptics. I fully plan to live to the ripe old age of 124 which means I’m just barely middle aged. For some time now I’ve been struggling with something to which I can’t assign a name.
I gave myself a facial but it didn’t make me feel any better. I just felt like an old broad with mud on her face.
My old friend, the late Ada Harvey, called the condition
For some time now I’ve had the sense that something important was missing. I checked and all my underwear is in place, my tires have been rotated and bills are paid up for another month. What could it be?
I changed my toothpaste, bought some bubble bath and toyed with the idea of quitting my job and moving to Nepal. But then I remembered I am retired and have no job. Does anyone know where Nepal is?