Friday, April 26, 2013

Confessing my real age of 78

Sometimes I call capri pants short pants, just for giggles.

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I giggle over small things, like short pants.

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I am not aware of the status of short pants.  Is this something I can still wear or have we moved on to matchstick jeans and such?

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Wednesday night while the potatoes were boiling I sat on the floor up against the fridge singing "You're My Best Friend" by Queen, the whole song....to the dog.  He licked the chocolate frosting off my face.


"You're my best friend too!...wait, do I smell tater tots?!"

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Speaking of my little man, Arnie is always on a leash.  Always.  Except that one time I got lazy during a potty break.  The same potty break that was, of course, his first squirrel sighting which led to his first squirrel chase near the road.  And wouldn'tyaknowit also his first time meeting the nasty Boston Terrier that lives below us who nearly tore his face off.

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Corey didn't understand my tribute Wednesday. 

"Beetle I read your blog, it was weird."

Safe to say he does not share in my love of birds.

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What does Corey share my love of?  Breakfast.

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When I say I'm going to go running, I do what real runners call "moderate walking."  In a 5k race a few years ago I came upon a 70 year old man who looked like he was barely moving and I Could. Not. Pass. Him.  Tragic.

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My friend, Jill, thinks I'm an old lady trapped in a beeeeeautiful, fit, young shell (my pretty accurate interpretation).  And to that I say, "Huh? Can you speak up??"

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And on that note, time for my daily dose of Metamucil...Happy Friday!

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