I looked at my skin.
Seems like the skin gets goofy as one ages.
What the hell is with those brown spots?
If I had a date tomorrow, for V day, which I don’t, would I wear a strapless gown?
Not with these ridiculous brown spots that have sprung up so suddenly.
Ok. So it has been 20 years when these spots first appeared.
I wore long sleeves.
As I got wild and wooly, I let the spots fly.
I have those leggings.
You know, the ones that the girls are wearing, with their elongated tops.
Mine happen to be cougar related.
Now isn’t that a hoot?
I must get a few tats soon, to hide these obnoxious brownies.
I poured Hempz lotion on the affected areas.
Smelled good, but looked awful.
As an aging neophyte, I finally realized that a leopard cannot hide his/her spots.
Out damn spot!
Nah, I never did understand Shakespeare.
So, who cares if I am a spotted owl or Miss Haversham?
I think that was her name.
What an idiot.
Waiting for Mr Goodbar.
Actually, Mr G happens to be my favorite bar.
So, here we are.
The winds have subsided.
The cats are trying to claw me to death.
I could really go for a grilled cheese sandwich with a fresh tomato.
More importantly, I am thinking about George and Snow.
Love those 2.
Another day to display the hideous brown spots.
In spite of our appearances, we still love to love those who love us.