That's It I'm Offically Old

This morning I decided I could no longer go outside with my coat unbuttoned. Due to my expanding waistline I was unable to warmly affix the coat to my body and since the temperature had fallen to a balmy -10 I thought buttoning the coat might be a necessity today.

The only way to accomplish buttoning my coat was to move the buttons. This would involve (gasp) sewing! Bravely facing the unknown I took out my needle and thread and began by threading the needle.

I noticed as I did this that the hole had gotten mysteriously smaller than it had been the last time I used it. In fact it was no longer a hole but a pore. An tiny itsty bitsy pore that dared me to try to put some thread though it. I squared my shoulders and decided to face the task head on. No microscopic needle hole was going to do me in! I cut the thread like a pro sucked on the end and began threading.

I held the needle as far away from me as I could hoping to use my telephoto sight to thread the needle. I pushed it through and success! I was not old! I was not loosing my sight! I was young and spry! I had done it in just one try!

Then I moved the needle and realized I was not the owner of a brand new threaded needle. I had threaded the air and that would not help move my buttons.

I went to the bathroom and turned on the bright lights. This was the kind of light that showed every blemish every ounce of cellulite. It was mean light and today it was my friend.

I held the needle and cut the thread again. This time I would not fail. I pushed and shoved and squinted and twisted but even in the bathrooms harsh light I could see that needle was no closer to being threaded than Elmo was to being the voice over for Darth Vader in Star War 105.


Finally I realized there was no choice. It was time to get out the big guns. My Granny glasses. The kind that costs $10 from the drugstore and fit in their own cardboard flowered carrying case. A real fashion statement. I stood in the bright light mean light looking like Old Mother Hubbard. Holding that needle out to the end of my arm dressed in my granny glasses bathed in the unforgiving bathroom glow. I battled and I grunted and a danced around but finally. It was done. The needle was threaded and I was victorious.

I looked up and both my kids were looking at me silently. I thought I could see pity in their eyes as they quietly shook their heads.

Get the walker out kiddies Granny's home.