Thought for the day:
It seems to me that the aging process presents only two viable options to the high-strung, outgoing creative type, namely, either to mellow or surrender to the temptation to go all Bette Davis in the later years. Having recently relocated from New York to San Francisco, I’m working on getting my cool on, but I must admit it’s a struggle.
So which will it be, folks, battle the madness or start coloring outside the lines with my lipstick as we roll on into crazy town?
I think you know. I think we all do.
If you’ll scroll down, you’ll find the post I recently wrote about the many humiliations of the aging process including, but not limited to, the steady stream (sorry) of incontinence-themed catalogues that trickles in (really sorry) with the mail each week. Now, I’m no Perry Mason (or Della Street either for that matter), but I am sure I was quite clear about this in my post: in no way did I state, infer or imply that I had ever used said items. Nonetheless, to reiterate, I am still in control of my bladder, as is every other member of the household except the largest and fattest of our cats, but he confines his accidents to the puppy pads we strew around the litter box in the cellar, so that doesn’t really count.
Imagine my surprise, then, when I received the following missive from the nice, if misguided and apparently illiterate, folks who make and market a product called (I am not making this up) Peepods.
So once again, let me just say, I DO NOT SUFFER FROM INCONTINENCE, mild or otherwise.
In any case, I politely rejected their offer and instead of flogging their products, I am devoting my energies to rebuilding my shattered confidence, starting with the fact that I am interesting.