DON'T COMPLAIN ABOUT YOUR PAIN

I'm living in an age and at an age of aches and pains. But who complains? When it rains I stay in with my heating pad, my ointment and make an appointment with my chiropractor. When it's sunny I hit the beach and cuddle up with a sweater and a set of wheels and oh how good that sunshine feels! The lucky ones only hurt in spurts and when they spill hot coffee on their shirts.

I limp and scrimp and count my pennies and a big night out is dinner at Denny's with a doggy bag for desert. My eyesight's fine for looking at mini skirts and if I spill gravy on my shirts, can I help it if the chopped steak spurts?

I'm an eater-outer diner shouter and if the waiter waits to bring me extra plates that aggravates. I wage my salad bar war and stuff my pockets with Sweet and Low secretively so no-one will know I shoplift just for fun. While I'm on the line and I see that chick of sixty-six with the swinging hips and sexy lips and the bright red hair she got from a trip to the barber chair. If she has a car and she still drives I'll woo her with all that jive about how she looks just like a movie star and if she replies, "Who are you, a creep from Mars?" I'll respond with the Harharhars and pinch her cheek with an "Ain't you sweet."

When I was young I was a flirt. I figured one more quikie couldn't hurt. Now anything that wears a skirt, even a Scotsman wearing kilts, grabs my eye and I never went for a guy.

Being old is a whole new thing. You can become a ding-a-ling. But as long as I can sleep at night and chew and bite and have a mind and find I still can write, I say at eighty-one I'm still having a lot of fun!