A Pound of Flesh
Neither June nor Faye is any longer busting out all over. Whoever is in charge of that department has been negligent! My birth certificate evidently never came with a guarantee. I checked the records... I’m wearing down, wearing out, and wearing more comfortable clothing than ever in my life. Although it seems like just a few short years ago that I wore them, my figure enhancing clothing gained another figure all on its own...and the calendar agreed it was time to move...to relocate as though it was on automatic.
As I slipped on my mask to go into town today (one of the few pluses of a mask is that, between my bangs and to top of its territory, few wrinkles show. I look younger) I noticed I’d forgotten my list and had to call home for the necessities that I was having trouble recalling...just one more habit I seem to have acquired with advancing age.
I talked to our Creator a long time yesterday about all of these things and how they appear to be happening all at once. Evidently His sympathy button is out of order because this morning when I looked into the mirror new babies had come to life on my jaw line. You don’t suppose (do you) that my 12th bottle of expensive skin cream isn’t living up to its promises?
The president must be in the same price range (age wise) as I am because his flesh appears to be growing faster than mine...and there is a bit more of his to go the overlap route because he weighs over 100 pounds more than I do. I know one thing...if I had his money (or extreme credit) I’d use some of those thousands of dollars he spends on his hair to buy a wig...and tell the world’s best plastic surgeon to sharpen up his utensils and do some carving!
Why...the wrinkle’s wrinkles wouldn’t even be here today if our great grandparents (Adam and Eve) hadn’t sinned the big sin against the Boss. (Plus, and it’s one thing I won’t delve into too deeply today...look at all the ‘wrinkles’ in the form of trash that have sprouted along even our major highways.)
From a burglar’s point of view, this mask wearing must be chunk of heaven. With their face gear they must just feel like one of the gang (no pun intended). They’ve already got the social distancing thing down pat...especially when police arrive on the scene.
And our mind? Since the calendar is so busy flipping the days, months, years, our mind has reverted (probably a survival strategy) to instant automatic...I’ll be driving, come to a corner, and even though I’m thinking about something else my foot will move to the brake, slow down, and my hands will be taking care of the steering wheel as we head toward home.
Guess the only thing to do is resign (one more time) myself to the fact that one who lives long and healthy enough is going to need to go to the body shop for an overhaul, or except the status quo. Wonder if Methuselah had this problem? I understand he didn’t necessarily volunteer to be the oldest man who ever lived. Say, you don’t suppose he fudged a bit on his age do you? Besides...he must have been lonely. Where was he going to find a woman...in his neck of the woods...who was even near his age? Guess that was just the life the Boss chose for him as the ‘invention’ of the world’s oldest man was
being planned...and ours is the life He’s planned for each of us. Just think...we may not be perfect... maybe we’re just in the ‘roughing out’ phase. We’ll merely have to hang around and find out, won’t we? That is...if we’re lucky enough to live long enough to complain about wrinkles and growing old. (No fair getting out a magnifying glass...trust me on this...they’ll be given birth one day when you look into the mirror and see your parent.. .but then, on second glance...you’ll be peering at yourself. Just remember...that’s life...and it’s better enjoyed than the alternative...I think.)