I realized this morning that I am one 6-month old cherry sucret in my pocket away from being an old person, and that it is just a matter of time before the odor of Ben Gay will be permeating the nest and I will be complaining of joint pain while trying to find my trifocals.
As Hawkeye's little red car is somewhat sickly these days, I got to play taxi driver and chauffeur the older hatchlings to school this morning. Easing on down the road, he keenly observed I have a box of tissues on standby riding shotgun just within arms reach, FOR MY ALLERGIES.
His exact words, "You have Kleenex in your car?!" I knew precisely what he was getting at. I did not like what he was getting at. Questions such as this make me want to be a drinker.
My exact words in reply, "Why yes, yes I do, FOR MY ALLERGIES."
His exact words in reply to my reply, "Yeah, uhh huh..."
I thought about pushing him out of the moving car right then, but that is something a crotchety little old lady would do. I may be crotchety, but I am not little and I refuse to be old. Not today anyway.
I have to go color my gray now.