Sags and Bags


Middle Age is not really an age. Nor is it a state of mind. Its more like a Jackass you meet in a waterin' hole that decides,despite your lack of eye contact, general attempts to avoid any and all contact, your frequent escapes to the bathroom, and running off to talk with other people you don't like either, but won't stalk you later, that you are interested and won't shut up, go away, listen when you try to end the conversation,follows you around, tries to become friends with your friends,all the while standin' there like a wart no one wants to mention,look at,or acknowledge.

Or,its like a candy thief that claims they don't eat sweets and when yer not lookin',or expectin' it, they steal your chocolate and beat feet with the very thing that keeps you sane,out of prison, and from rippin' heads off chickens, mules, and diving into traffic! S.O.B!

One day you are high, tight, supple,lean and have the skin that grows on babies asses, lines are only on paper, and the only thought you give to things like yer eyes,your hair,your butt, yer weight, or your health in general are when those scary-ass commercials come on the squak box and you wonder why the hell anyone would take that crap,what the hell it is,and get on with yer life in blissful ignorance of the fact that people need that crap!

And then Jackass shows up and you have wrinkles,sags,bags, chocolate filled asses,braces,and now...Windersheilds fer my eyes! Damnit! Get Off ME!

I got glasses. Now, don't freak out. They are the sexiest friggin' ones I could find, and they are in the most adorable color(Pink) in the free world...but they still go on my face, and they still get in the way of battin' my lashes. WTF!?

I can't see at night. I don't know why this means I need glasses,IT'S FRIGGIN' DARK OUTSIDE.WHO THE HELL CAN SEE?! That stupid eye-poker says I need em, so I got the durn things. Now they say I can run Amok with the mules(who see jest fine) and not worry I'm gonna kill owls,or take out small homes of little old ladies and shit. Sheesh.

I am not happy. I think Lucy should get her eyes checked. She's the one who runs stop signs and brakes for rabbits all the time. Damn Mule. It's really all her fault.

But, as I was sayin'...Jackass shows up and you go to pot. At the rate I'm goin' its a wonder I have a Man. Every time he comes home I have another appliance on my face, another cream on my butt, and more chocolate smeared in more places than God made little freakin' apples!

So there. I'm loadin' up the mules, stickin' the glasses on Lucy, and runnin' Amok! Whoville, get off the roads. Lucy can't drive!

Queenie.

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