Not bad, I guess. And better than not getting to be “almost f-ing” 50. But still painful.
I mean, it seems like just yesterday I was “almost f-ing” 40.
Looking at this picture, taken in what had to be 200 degree heat, I’m reminded of the good old days of working ’round the clock, tending to Cryler, I mean, Cuyler, trying to squeeze in time with Casey (and whoever the big guy is on the end), and not having a single spare second to do anything about my hair (Roots are for trees, Suz!) or my hips.
You know, maybe “almost f-ing” 50 isn’t so f-ing bad after all.