Old

We are now officially well-aged, we have grab bars in the shower in case we wobble. Yet somedays we spring out of bed eager to take a slow run around the block but mostly not. We chat with strangers while waiting at the customer service counter at Walmart. Grumble about the price of eggs and the young (meaning anyone younger than us), with other cranky pensioners. There’s a punching bag hanging in the cellar that knocks the hell out of me. She has silver hair not gray - silver! I do a great impression of a balding old coot. Life is still good but not getting any better.