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 |  My random thoughts and reactions to my everyday life. The voices like a forum. |
| 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. |
| PROMPT March 26th If you asked your friends to describe you using only three words, what would they say? And why do you think so? This is once again where I stall in an effort to think of something and I repeat the question. What would my friends say to describe me? What would they say, hmmm? Would they claim that I do just this? Would they speak of my delaying tactics? Could they point out that I'm avoiding the prompt? I'm wondering... I truly am wracking my brains. Perhaps they'd say I am modest because I do not speak of myself, or self-promote. I am just me, take it, or leave it. I've never forced my writing on anyone. Most of my pals have never read what I scribble. No one could ever describe me as posh, snobby, or better than anyone else. I don't care about appearances least of all my own. There are no putting on airs with me. I garb myself in t-shirts and jeans. I own no make-up. My eyebrows and eyelashes, my finger nails, oh, and my hair are original. I will and do engage in conversation with anyone, anywhere. I suppose my confidantes will point out that I am klutzy, clumsy, basically an accident magnet. I will begrudgingly agree. I am far from athlete material and nothing I do in my everyday life would qualify as extreme sport. Some will swear that I trip on air and there are times I'm bewildered. There's a high probability that walking across a room I will stumble, or slip, or collide with a piece of furniture, or step on my own foot, or bounce off a wall. Witnesses have been startled as I hurtled out of a trailer door and they've searched for the perpetrator that must've pushed me. I've suffered internet surfing accidents whereby I've rolled across my own foot with the computer chair I'm riding seated on, or that same ornery chair has bucked me off. Video footage exists of me executing a spectacular slip and fall in a grocery store. My truthful friends might let slip that I am a chatterbox. Yes, I like to talk. It's as natural and necessary as breathing. My school report cards never failed to remind my parents of this. Quiet time? Reading time? Watching a film? Gym time? My motto is a conversation should be acceptable anywhere and with anyone. Why wait silently in a line? Strike up some words with a fellow traveler to wile away the long hours. Who believes elevators are not for getting-to-know-yous? Waiting rooms often promote the best gab fests. My local post office always provides a convenient meeting place for people to natter with. So, this might describe modest, clumsy, chatty me. |
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