Granny Glo

Okay, I now know why you see old ladies with spots all over their shirts. I've become one of those old ladies. You seem to reach a point when you say, "I just don't care anymore." I guess that's me. As I'm noticing the spot on my shirt, I'm also tipping my glass forward and now there's coke in my socks. In my vague memory I can recall changing pantyhose because there was a small snag somewhere. Now I just move the 1/2 inch run to the back and pretend it's not there, or if someone mentions it, which takes incredibly bad taste, if you asked me, I feign ignorance and mumble something about it must have been the chair with the unsanded leg that did it. When did I morph into this mess of a person? Can the home be far behind?