Though the calendar says otherwise, my daughter must really be a teenager. She has now accused me of not knowing what junior high is like, and not remembering what it is like to be 12.I must be old.
I must really be old.
Though some might say, "grow old gracefully." I will not. If I have to be old, I am going to be really good and old.
I am going to get a cane, a hairnet, 7 cats, a housecoat, start smacking my lips, dye my hair a really awful shade of red (to cover up all my gray), start calling people sonny, say eh?? a lot, and maybe, just maybe I'll start pinching peoples cheeks (whichever set is closer at hand).
Eh? Sonny? What's that? Well, back in my day we had respect for our elders. Dang whippersnapper.
6 comments:
I plan on being the mean kind of old - yelling at kids who walk on my lawn, threatening sales people, and telling strangers exactly what I think of them.
Aren't you allergic to cats?
yes, but you can't be a crazy cat lady without cats.
I'm going to be one of those old women who wears so much floral perfume, I will sufficate all around me, it will be great!
Oh yeah, you already have a lovely vinal floral house coat that you could put on the next time you go to parent teacher conference that would be sufficiently embarassing to Haley- eh?
I'm pretty sure you are allowed to swear like a sailor when you get old too. I don't know why that's true, but it seems to be.
Nice! I forgot about the swearing!
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