Yes, kiddies, today I'm the ripe old age of 57. Yikes! Seems old, older than me, but the math doesn't lie and since Mom's 80, you subtract 23 to get my age, which works out to 57. Shockingly large number some days.
August 31--It's my belief we're all crazy--That's the only explanation, Bob thought, as he stood in the sun feeling its rays penetrate his scalp all the way down to his waist. The line he was in snaked nearly a quarter of a mile behind him but there were only fifteen people in front of him. Sometimes there were fourteen. He never knew girls needed to go to the bathroom so often. Six of the people in front of him were girls, um, well, women. He had learned over the last day and a half that females over the age of about eighteen weren't fond of being called girls. Women, that's what they wanted to be called. He thought "girls" had a friendly, kind of pals-y note and "women" sounded a bit aloof and standoff-ish. But he supposed if he ever wanted to get laid, in a two-day ticket line or not, he'd better start calling those soft and curvy beings women.
I think Jenny's working today. I hope you aren't, Bob. I'm not. Yippee!
--Barbara
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