A week ago I was telling the young neighbor about my 35 bruises.
She said, “Oh really? Is that what happens to old people?”
I thought, “Really, girl?” Then I softened. I’m not old, but I am elderly-adjacent. Gary’s old. Well, he isn’t exactly old, but he looks old.
I stuck with that interpretation of reality for a week, until Gary needed an eyepatch for some eye nuisance that popped up, and then I realized that we are not only old enough to need an eyepatch but that we already HAVE an eyepatch, therefore, we are old.