The #1 rule growing up is your are not going to be your parents.
Think young, stay young. You are different; you are golden.
You’re still looking like a teenager into your 20s. You smooth your way through your 30’s, your 40s… even perhaps your 50s.
You are beautiful and getting better every-stinkin’-day. Everything’s going according to plan.
Then the 60s come calling.
It’s not sudden, but in your 60s you figure it out. You ain’t outrunning time, you ain’t outrunning nothing. You probably can’t even run.
Next thing you know, you’re at your 50th reunion surrounded by old people.
Old People (This may get me uninvited to the 51st)
I mean, you look great! Other than the few pounds and wrinkles. And the grey hair - or none at all.
Next thing you know… What the hell is that music they’re playing on the radio?
“Hey, grandpa! What’s a radio?”
What’s the next?
Paper skin.
What happened? No clue.
The bruises, where did they come from? Why is blood running down Uncle Al’s leg?
I’ll tell you why. Uncle Al came into contact with something. Could have been a sofa cushion.
Haven’t lifted a finger all day, yet the day must end with a shower because I’ve got to wash the blood off some part of my body.
Honk if you know what I mean. Honk if you’re bruised. Honk if you’re bleeding. Honk if you love Jesus.
Honk if you just want honk.
I’m going to the shower. My damn leg’s bleeding.