If you think that there's a set fate out there for you as you age, you would be mistaken. Eighty percent of aging factors are at least partially under our control.
It was late (ten o' clock is late to me), and I had just arrived home after going to Ridgecrest. Grandma was in her room, the spare room, and she was idly going through the belongings in her purse.
"Grandma, I don't want to sound like your mother, but I'm going to anywayz. Please give me your pants so I can put them in the washing machine." This is at least the fourth time I've made this request. While we were packing to get ready to go back to Yuppieville, she folds pants soaked in piss in a bag, and handed it to me. So, I wanted to get the pants in the washer before I went to bed. I find her pajamas and I put them out on her bed. She finally pulls off her jeans.
I try my best not to touch the pants themselves. But I can smell them as I'm loading them in the machine.
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