Dilapidation

Things I could do at 47 that I totes can't do at 57.

• Drink a second martini or cosmo or shot of Jamo and NOT get totally sloshed. Also too, no hangover.
• Take an epic ride or go for an equally huge hike and NOT need a nap afterwards.
• Eat a second TAB cookie and NOT have to do extra laps to avoid weight gain. For that matter – pizza. I could eat PIZZA! I miss pizza. *sob*

What brings this on? I just got the pic in the mail from Grandparents Day at Madison and Julianna’s school. The photographer was, I’m assuming, one of the teachers who happened to have a good camera – NOT a pro and NOT someone with an awareness or understanding of their subjects' delicate fee-fees.

‘sup? Was ist los?

She captured me with my wonky left eye shut, the other wide open. That and my nerve damaged mouth was in a twisted line that would look more at home in a Ralph Steadman illustration.

For that matter, I could be Cliven Bundy's darker, older sister. YEESH!

No, you don't get to see this egregious image.

The girls are, of course, beautiful. The Amazing Bob is beautiful. Me? Oof.

Before getting this evidence of my gnarled visage, I’d planned on framing the shot – putting it over the couch where I could see it daily. I think what I’ll do is, next time the girls are visiting, have Jen do a portrait of us. Girl's got talent and a rock solid recog of what bits of reality that Donna'd rather not see, thenkuveddymuch.

Now then, time for this old crone to suit up for my epic ride.