The Sofa and the Old Woman
It happened like this: I spent several days this past week with daughter Mandy; her husband, Adam; their three-year-old, Harrison; and the almost-four-month-old Fisher a/k/a The Fish.
Early in the week Mandy called to let me know that she and The Fish were sick and she had no energy. As most reasonable folks know, a mother of an infant and an active three-year-old must have energy. Mandy said she needed my help, so I drove to Murrells Inlet to help as I could.
And it was during these few days that I learned a new indicator of "old age."
There's a sofa in the room with the TV, the official "hang-out" room at their house. And there's one spot on the sofa that I occupy when I'm feeding The Fish, or reading, or checking e-mail - well, you get the picture. It's just the point to which I gravitate.
So, I - the innocent victim of the prank - plopped down on that spot on the sofa. And, yes, there was one of those awful sounds as I crushed the whoopee cushion.
And that's when I learned what old age really is. They all laughed. I didn't know there was a whoopee cushion there. It was just a typical sound for me, one that I seem to make all too often -- without the aid of a cushion.
And, my friend, if you don't understand what I'm saying, just wait. You will. When you're this age -- old -- you'll understand -- totally!