OK, my birthday came and went. I may as well admit that my days for taking the “silver” version of vitamins have arrived. Still, I’m younger than Barbie. Being younger than Barbie, I sure don’t appreciate the “gift” that showed up in the mail this week.
It was a catalog. Oh, I love my catalogs. If only I could buy all this lovely stuff, I’d own:
Toys. Enough toys to make my house a grandkid’s dream vacation.
Linens. My house could look like a French country cottage.
Clothes. Lots and lots of clothes.
Compression stockings and walkers.
Wait. What?
Who thought I was ready for stuff like this? Do I look like I need special pillows for my coccix? Spring-y lifts to boost me out of my rocking chair?
Who sold my name to these eager beavers?
* * *
Not that everything old is bad. For instance, this day-old dish was perfectly yummy served on flour tortillas. To see what it looked on its first day, check out the Flavorful Beef Stir-Fry.
Even old books are pretty good. I’m only halfway through my current read, but it’s been around since the cool kids were wearing leather jackets and ducktail hair. I saw the movie back in college, being one of those enviable people whose major included watching movies. Boy, I sure didn’t cut classes when they included Citizen Kane, It’s a Wonderful Life, Singin’ in the Rain and . . . Well, you’ll find out next week.
And don’t hate me for those easy classes. They sort of ruined me for real college work, which means your tuition dollars made you smarter than me.
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