Nobody told me that when I got old my joints would sound off in the morning like milk hitting a bowl full of rice crispies. The same people who failed to fully disclose the perils of aging are now trying to CYA by telling me that I ain’t seen nothing yet. They think that their scare tactics of what happens after 50 or 60 will distract me from my relentless pursuit of justice. Not so!
Engaging in hot pursuit of anything other than a steaming bath full of menthol flavored bath salts didn’t make my agenda this week. It was an epic battle of Laura vs. The Crud. Billed as more than just a head cold, but not as bad as the flu, The Crud is a contender. Anti-viral, aloe & lotion infused facial tissues are no match for TC, but they sop up the slime quite nicely.
All I can say is that if I eat another bite of chicken noodle soup, I will have to pluck my armpits rather than shave. If that happens, be on the lookout, cause I will be one, bad mother-clucker….