My trusty recliner is in permanent recline mode. Its resident is too. I didn’t move from its embrace the entire day yesterday. Other than a nature call or two. In fact I didn’t have to put on pyjamas to go to bed . I was still wearing them from the night before. Now, how good is that at all! I can lounge from dawn to dusk and dusk to dawn forever more if I want. That is a benefit of seniorhood. And this Boxing Day I took full advantage.
The currant dressing , creamed broccoli , goose, ham, fruit flan chocolates , cheeses, martinis and wine were still performing swan lake ( in this case goose lake) in my inflated belly. It wasn’t all by choice then that I marinated in my chair the entire day, Boxing Day , while the young ones continued their gluttonous revelry with yet another huge dinner . Turkey , this time. Wait till they reach 60.
Their gall bladders are still friendly. But the time will come when theirs too will scream ENOUGH. I give up. Working day and night and still you send work my way! And then it will shoot those little stones like bullets . Take that! And that! And that! Rat a tat tat. Al Capone in the pancreas.
I am done with that gorging now. I’ve had as much fun as I can take from food, drink and that other delight (wink) as my years can take. My chair and my naps suit me just fine on Boxing Day. And everyone understands. I am after all no spring chicken any more.