no thinking about short skirts or supple thighs, dimpled chins, or strong forearms. it's all become a chore. you're more enchanted with laughing dogs running, their ears dangling silly bounces all the way. you know their secret handshake, envy their careless happy-go-round.

you're becoming that early middle-aged lady that wears funky sneakers and walks everywhere. still rock'n rolls, but knows how to quiet down. you're getting past limbo. out of the early thirties sandtrap. sometimes this sucks, sometimes is just fine.