Aging like Fine Whine

So do you ever just eat Nutella and apparently pull a thigh muscle? Because true story a few minutes after rigging a conveyer belt of Nutella to my face my thigh began seizing. I don't see the connection but my body has deemed it so and who am I to argue with something that can no longer lift gravity. 

And are you ever called ma'am by someone who calls the 90s the 1900s? It's extra fun when they're dangling your last thread of patience over a firey pit of despair on some customer service call that took 44 minutes of recorded robot message navigation to be told you've reached the wrong department, ma'am.

Oh and do you remember hope? That thing that existed before the lockdown decided that it would sabotage my 'glow up' and take away the best most attractive years of my life? The time after being too stupid but before being too old to do anything? In exchange for a flurry of feral cats, a renoviction notice and some wicked self harming habits? I remember that. Good times.

So fortunately memory is still intact. Or unfortunately. I don't remember. I do remember what I used to look like before I began including too much information from my past in every interaction to try convince someone who dresses in bad fashion from the 1900s that I'm still cool. "Oh, you're having a sale? I went to a sale once. Drank a quattro eggnog latte and crapped myself by the sequined shirts. Had to buy a new pair of skinny jeans and y'all know how hard a good pair of those are to find amirite? Do you have any kicks in size ma'am? No it's fine, I'm fine, I'm just limping because I mukbanged Nutella so my thigh isn't working.".       Good times 🖤🧐