I remember being that age, and can vividly remember the fleeting fantasy of gnawing off my own hand to free myself from the trap of Ye Old Person stuck in an endless tape loop (see kids, there’s another thing you probably aren’t familiar with) about how many miles they had to trudge through the snow, uphill, to school, when they were starving from war rationing and the potato famine or something. What perversity of life makes me do the same? Is it one of those inevitable things in life, like reaching the age where you don’t care if you are wearing mismatching clothes to go to the store, or the one I’m really looking forward to, the age at which you declare at random intervals that you are old enough to say what you like, and you embarrass the younger family members at Thanksgiving by blurting out
completely inappropriate sexual innuendos about senior citizen sex? See, I’m still young enough to cringe at the thought, but if my current trend continues, I’m right on target to eventually becoming that old lady.