Shit done got real

I never wanted to be divorced. But oh well. As Patsy Cline says "People in hell want ice water. That don't mean they get it."

And I have so many questions. Who will rub cramped legs muscles in the middle of the night? Who will help me pull off running tights when I'm too stiff to get them? Who will put lotion on my back? (Old lady in the gym I'm looking at you. You owe me.) Who will pop the zits on my back?

Then I have to remind myself: I will.

And to quote another great American woman, Lady Crawley, upon learning her housekeeper, Mrs. Hughes has cancer: "You must have a million questions right now; the primary of which are 'Where will I go?' and 'Who will take care of me?' The answers are 'Here.' and 'We will.'" (by "we" I mean "me.")

To end, I quote the greatest American writer of this century, Mr. Sam Venable: "Sometimes life hands you a shit sandwich. You either starve to death, or take a bite."

Order up. Side of mustard, please.