I've been suffering tennis elbow (surfin' the web doesn't help by the way) and this is something I found - verbatim – “Tennis elbow is so common and the age occurrence so striking, that it seems both accurate and reassuring to consider this illness a ‘rite of passage’ through middle age.”
A right of passage? A RIGHT OF PASSAGE?????? What the hell does that mean? I want my right of passage to be perky boobs and slim thighs. I want my right of passage to be retirement at the age of 45 with the rest of my golden years spent around the pool with Cocoa serving me frozen margaritas. I want my right of passage to be fun, exciting, and full of pleasure. There should be a party with alcohol flowing and lots of fattening food. There should be bells….whistles….male strippers. I want crepe paper and balloons. A reason to go shopping for a new dress; a dress just like the one worn by Audrey Hepburn portraying Eliza Doolittle attending the Embassy Ball. And I want to look that good wearing, too. I want Mark Wahlberg on one arm and Daniel Craig on the other. I want gifts and money bestowed on me by well-wishers and loved ones. And I want Ty Pennington to show up at my door with his team of builders with the sole purpose of leveling my home, sending me on a week long vacation to the Caribbean, and having a brand new home right there on my lot with updated appliances and furniture waiting for me when I return.
I do not want this never-ending nagging pain. Gooooooolly, Andy, maybe next we can whack my knees and take out my shoulders leaving nothing behind but arthritis and bursitis. Yeah – that sounds like a good time!
A right of passage? A RIGHT OF PASSAGE?????? What the hell does that mean? I want my right of passage to be perky boobs and slim thighs. I want my right of passage to be retirement at the age of 45 with the rest of my golden years spent around the pool with Cocoa serving me frozen margaritas. I want my right of passage to be fun, exciting, and full of pleasure. There should be a party with alcohol flowing and lots of fattening food. There should be bells….whistles….male strippers. I want crepe paper and balloons. A reason to go shopping for a new dress; a dress just like the one worn by Audrey Hepburn portraying Eliza Doolittle attending the Embassy Ball. And I want to look that good wearing, too. I want Mark Wahlberg on one arm and Daniel Craig on the other. I want gifts and money bestowed on me by well-wishers and loved ones. And I want Ty Pennington to show up at my door with his team of builders with the sole purpose of leveling my home, sending me on a week long vacation to the Caribbean, and having a brand new home right there on my lot with updated appliances and furniture waiting for me when I return.
I do not want this never-ending nagging pain. Gooooooolly, Andy, maybe next we can whack my knees and take out my shoulders leaving nothing behind but arthritis and bursitis. Yeah – that sounds like a good time!
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