You know you’re getting old when you tuck tissue into the waistband of your pajamas.
It happened this morning while brewing coffee. I have a Kleenex in my hand, seemingly perpetually for these gawd-awful sinus problems exacerbated by the quite dry Colorado climate. And no where in the kitchen seemed a spot sanitary to set it down. So I tuck it into the elastic band of my PJs.
Flannel no less.
It was in that very moment that I began speaking in tongues, specifically the voice of my grandmother who’d lived to a ripe old age indeed. Grandma always had tissue tucked somewhere on her body.
I jest about the channeling. Yet there it is, Kleenex tucked into the waistband because my nightshirt lacks a pocket. Evidence of aging creeping in.
Ah, that I born the granddaughter of Bill Gates’ granddaughter and in the stead of balled tissue a $100 bill …
One can dream, can’t she?