I do not know quite what happened or when , but my hubby and I now qualify for seniors' discounts at some venues. This creates a quandary; in order to save money, but not face, we have to admit to our age. HMMMM..... We definitely do not consider ourselves to be old. In this day and age ,when people as a whole are living longer and healthier lives why are 'young seniors', those in their fifties, like moi, considered 'old'?? It's so true that age is just a perception! "Maturity" is very objective/subjective, and I object! Whew, a few years have skittered by since I composed this biography block. Those "fifties" are in the rear view mirror and they are distant, fond memories. Oh, I do not plan to stop writing any time soon.
WWAD-what would Andre do! Maybe he could get a 3D-printer, make bracelets with WWAD on them and sell them on the side.
We get our dogs braided rope toys to chew on and use dental sticks to help clean their teeth. Perhaps Andre would enjoy a nice braided chew rope, and if someone would make a banana flavored dental stick, he could use it for a swizzle stick in his drink and chew on after he downs it.
My grandgiggles now ask if I'm wearing bubble wrap when I venture forth for a meander/walk/stroll. I thought a clumsy monkey could be conceivable and that he'd be told the same thing I am. Be careful. What is that? Accidents happen, to me any way.
Queen NormaJean Greeneyes You win! I've never been shot at, well, not directly. I once experienced the back window of my car being shot out as I drove along a highway. I believe it was a hunter's errant bullet. I wrote about us accident prone people. I refer to it as O.U.C.H. I believe I intended that to mean Our Unique Clumsiness Hurts. We create our own writing material.
Oh come on - I've had so many weird accidents - last one I swear I tripped on a feather. Broke 2 bones in my hand, cast for 4 weeks and now I'm going to see the doctor tomorrow. Cannot move the blasted hand at all.
Car accidents, been shot at, blew my knee getting into a truck. falling down drunk and waking up looking like a prize fighter when I had to go to a family funeral. I've had a few good ones.
I'm the accident-prone one around these parts - although most people would guess my most-used word falls into the "swear" category, it's actually "ouch."
Years back I dated a lady who was extremely accident prone. On one occasion she caught her dress pocket on a door handle as we exited the theater. She ripped her dress open, buttons popping off all over. Another time I stopped to pick her up for a dinner date. As we were exiting her apartment, she remembered her purse and rushed back in to grab it. She slipped on the floor and slid into the table, chipping her front tooth. On yet another outing while viewing some antique mining equipment, she climbed up on a big dump truck for a picture. She decided to jump down, but had caught her shirt on something and ripped it off!
If you were able to live to the age of 90 and retain either the mind or body of a 30-year-old for the last 60 years of your life, which would you choose? So, basically this prompt assumes I may lose some, if not all my marbles if I live to proclaim I am four score and ten. Also, the prevailing assumption is that a ninety-year old's body has perhaps exceeded its best-before-date. There's plenty of time between thirty and ninety to wreak havoc and mayhem. Sixty additional years of memory both muscle and cognitive. I believe I'm going to require a bigger brain and a new memory chip. I'll take the mind of a thirty-year old please. My knees were already protesting and refusing to cooperate when I celebrated our thirty year partnership. They never had any intention of carrying me for another sixty years anyway. If they must accompany me into the extended future, they'd be perfectly happy tucked up in a wheelchair, or scooter. Oh, right, they'd prefer an electric scooter with a parasol, they're partial to a green one, and a jaunty red flag, er, no, a banner. They don't care one way or another if a new, younger, guaranteed- to -function -as- an-always-youthful brain moves in and attempts to boss them around. They never obeyed the original brain either. I need this thirty-year old brain because I expect it will be malleable. I have plans to train it, exercise it, and well, yes, exploit it. By that tender age, it should not have been exposed to so many bad habits that it refuses to consider alternative solutions. I expect to witness some initial balking, but the added elasticity and flexibility will mould supple improved pathways. Like a fine-tuned motor, the neurons will fire on all cylinders. In sixty years, this brain will cover a lot of ground. I anticipate an engaging travel companion even if we don't always move in the physical sense. Meh, I can't fathom a thirty-year old body paired with a ninety-year old brain. The cerebral self would be craving constant power naps while the skeletal/muscular frame would be raring to go, anywhere, anytime. The joy and pride of a perfectly executed ski run would be lost. Why bother with a marathon? A tired brain may not comprehend or appreciate physical prowess. The youthful body could atrophy. What a waste. With advanced age comes the very real chance of confusion and memory loss. Where am I? What was I doing? Why am I doing this? My forever thirty brain will never tire of exploring and attempting new skills. In that sixty year span, I can and will manage the physical deterioration of my vessel/body. It will prove true that saying 'mind over matter.' I won't mind a glitch here and there because I will troubleshoot a solution. My rebellious knees will be surprised. During a sixty-year long stretch the thirty-year old brain will persevere. It will possess the certainty, the infallibility of youth. Shirking will not be tolerated. Stubborn will meet resolute. I'm looking forward to this. I'm not keen to be seen in a scooter even if the parasol is my favourite colour.
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