Who knew my last post about aging (without the slightest hint of grace) would touch a nerve in so many people?!
Thanks to everyone who forwarded the post and left a comment. Ya'll crack me up.
Here's what I've pondered most of today...
Why in God's name do I insist on waiting to go to the bathroom until I hurt so much that I'm certain my bladder is hanging out of my "down-there" parts?
I'm a big girl. I know where the bathroom is.
I can feel and acknowledge the tiny twinge that indicates I've fully digested my two liters of Diet Coke.
But I choose to ignore the signs.
Rather than act like an adult and take care of my business, I allow myself to become distracted as the pain grows, requiring me to clamp my legs together as if my life depends on no air seeping through.
My feet tap, I hum, swivel in my chair and only after I'm certain I can't possibly walk to the bathroom, do I even attempt it.
*she says, crawling to the bathroom*