I looked at my skin.

Holy Moses!

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?

No way.

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.

Jeans.

Hoodies.

And then?

As I got wild and wooly, I let the spots fly.

Wait.

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.

Why?

Because.

That’s why.

Love those 2.

Tuesday tomorrow.

Another day to display the hideous brown spots.

In spite of our appearances, we still love to love those who love us.

xoxoxooxoxoxoxoxox

Wolf

 

 

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