Good Morning.
This is the deal about the human body: you crawl until you walk and you babble until you form understandable words and then sentences. Your teeth fall out and are replaced with better ones, but some of them, of course, may come in less than perfectly straight and have to be adjusted with braces. You enter puberty upon which I shall not comment except to say that the changes will cause a fair amount of upheaval for a very long time.
Your eyesight may go haywire at any stage of life but will certainly do something inconvenient after the fortieth birthday.
Old people do not have a back up waiting in the gums when their teeth fall out. They are not on a path to learning when they babble. They dodder because their knees and hips don’t work the way they should and even if one joint is replaced, another is guaranteed to give out before long. Old people can no longer get in and out of the tub, grab bars or not.
Certain organs unexpectedly misfire when they sneeze or cough, often in a setting away from home like a concert hall with velvet seats or the neighbor’s garden and clearly better the garden.
Old people install stair lifts so they can get to the bedroom or laundry without knocking themselves unconscious. They purchase automobiles they can get in and out of easily but they cannot see the lines that delineate the lanes on city street or country road, get pulled over for driving too slowly, and have temper tantrums when the kids take away the car keys. By that time they can’t remember where they left they left them because their brains are falling apart. By that time they are putting the remote in the mailbox and the bills in the fridge.
Old people cry because they know all of this is happening. Kindly take one of us to lunch, and I’ll have the buttered noodles, a side of applesauce, and the orange sherbet.
Actually I’ll have a Cobb Salad with extra bacon, a Bloody Mary, and a nap.
Best regards,
Elisabeth
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