We offer reflections on the human condition from a twenty year old mind trapped in a 79 year old body.
I frequently have moments of indecision attempting to decide which type of burger I want to purchase.
There is nothing more amusing than the wrong order delivered to the table.
I become infuriated when the cup with change is empty and I have to hand over a nickel for the penny.
At age 79, no one asks for my proof of age.
I await the next special: “Meals for 25 Cents”
Patience today is not a virtue, it is a necessity.
I purchased 12 oranges for 99 cents. I walked into a supermarket and they sold three for a dollar. Are those special oranges?
If there is a meeting, who comes first, the man or the woman?
It is almost impossible in fast food places to shut one’s eyes and take a deep breath.
In my youth the manner of dress denoted income. Today, it is the reverse.
There are moments in my life at 79 when I wish I had a million dollars so I could decide what to do.
It is ironic that those yelling for return to basic American values shout down opponents at meetings. Is this the “basic American value?”
I still hate being served. In the Depression, we never went any place where someone served us.
For many American workers, shitting is the only place where one gets a moment of rest and solitude.
At age 79m fatigue hits me more in the morning.
If a young man wears a large cross I assume he is in a motorcycle group.
Old expression, “no atheists in a foxhole.” New expression, “no praying in public places”
I spent a Sunday afternoon with a group of elderly female leftists. Life in the past was the motto.
One is allowed to lean on a table when two are sitting, but not when there is a crowd.
I often wonder what it takes to get a “Disabled Parking” sticker. Does mental disability count?
America would be in better shape if we all cooked our own meals.