Welcome to 55+, known to us crusty cool cats as the corn husk years. The era where your body demands attention, akin to a cactus with a flair for the dramatic. This stage of age calls for heavy hydration, perspective, and a wry sense of humour. You’re not half-assing anymore, you’ve gone full-ass droughty.
🌵 I know we’ve talked about unwanted hair before, so I won’t bore you with details of a newly found black strand…on my earlobe.
🌵 I’m not overly fond of my new Mr. McGoo progressive glasses. The naked eye is a much better liar.
🌵 The sheer number of barnacle moles on my hull should qualify me as Captain of the S.S. B-Yacht’ch.
🌵 How many times can I tweak something, by doing nothing?
🌵 I wish all my social outings were equipped with closed captioning options.
🌵 My snagglepuss feet were a little nasty before, but now I’m creepin’ fresh from the crypt, with nails so impenetrable my clippers are fitted with safety goggles.
🌵 Forcing layers of creams and oils onto my skin while muttering, “It rubs the lotion on its skin, or else it gets the hose again.”
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