Tanypteryx writes:
At my age, the ice bothers me more than the cold.
I don't remember
if I've done this joke here before:
When you're little, you slip and fall on the ice and you cry because it's the end of the world. But the end of the world doesn't last long.
When you're school age, you slip and fall on the ice and you say, "Hey, that's fun!" So you keep doing it until your father tells you to stop, "You're making it slippery for everybody else," - and you thought you were doing them a favor.
When you're High-school age, you slip and fall on the ice and you're embarassed. You hope nobody saw that, especially the girls.
When you're grown up, you slip and fall on the ice and you're angry. "Why doesn't somebody put some salt on that?"
When you're old, you slip and fall on the ice and you just lie there for a while assessing the situation. Any new aches and pains? Anything broken? When you do decide to get up, it's an operation that takes as much preparation as D-Day.
And that's how it is until the pallbearers slip and fall on the ice. That would be funny, if you could see it.
"I call that bold talk for a one-eyed fat man!"
-- Lucky Ned Pepper