That’s a relief. I no longer have to worry about growing old. It has been difficult getting here but by the grace of three sons, a husband, barking dogs and unbalanced budgets I have flown in and landed at OLD.
Thirty-five was nice. I stayed right there for 10 years. Then I lost track and it became very confusing when my sons were in their 40s and I was only 35. A therapist straightened me out. It was time to move on.
Further evidence as to my real age came when I was crossing the room and someone yelled, “Those performance-enhancing drugs not workin’ for ya, Bobbie?” His jaw was broken in three places. So I am old, but not dead, yet. A woman must defend her honor. Does he need glasses? Like a stately galleon, I was moving ahead with great style and grace. His problem.
There is a thought niggling here. Should I die (joke), that will put a cap on the number of dogs I may someday own. These two hideous little barkers just may mark the end of kennel heaven.
We speak of the Rainbow Bridge and our pets crossing into water-hydrant bliss. Somehow, I have not been able to reconcile our meeting again on the other side. What if the books get confused and I wind up “over there” with someone’s pet boa? The only good possibility is that some poor shlemiel who is deaf gets my two pups.
I worry about this dog thing so that I do not have to consider other factors, like death. As they admonish me to eat fresh fruits and vegetables. No one understands that I need preservatives … a whole truckload. Exercise daily, eat wisely and die anyway. Right?
God forbid that I should, or any of us should, stop laughing. Quickest ticket to the grave.
Robin Williams said, “Death is nature’s way of saying, ‘Your table is ready.’” I am in line alright. Others in line look askance as I double over gasping with laughter. Listening to Robin Williams always did that to me. Good medicine.