It’s not fair that 82 year-old guys don’t have wrinkles. Especially when they live in the desert sun. Desert rats are supposed to have wrinkles. Well, where are they? Where are the lines and puckers, the folds and furrows, the crows-feet and creases.
Last year, Tommy had some “operations” at the hospital in Sun City West. Uh-huh. He couldn’t drive for a while, but when he told me “he needed a lift”, I thought he was talking about a ride.
It didn’t dawn on me about Botox or the artful science of nips and tucks until I saw recent photos of him at the Fitzpatrick family reunion last summer. See what I mean?. Is this a guy who this week celebrated his 82nd birthday?
Maybe it’s something they put in the Arizona water – fountain of youth stuff. Here’s his wife – my sister Joan.
Whatever it is, I don’t think it’s the prunes. Or the Metamucil. Maybe it’s just good genes. They have those in Arizona, too. Calvin Klein’s.
Anyway, I’m sorry I forgot what day it was yesterday, Tommy. I would have called to wish you a happy birthday but I couldn’t find my teeth. Or the phone. After all, some of us are getting older.
But happy birthday, anyway, young man. I know you’re going to grow up to be a fine upstanding senior citizen some day. But get ready. You have a lot to look forward to. When the time comes, first you forget names, then you forget to pull your zipper up, and then you forget to pull your zipper down. At least, that’s what they tell me.
Now for a makeover floor show – this one by “Whose Line Is It, Anyway?”
Hang in there, and write if you get work.