Methusalette was significantly older than I, in her late 660’s to be precise, and hadn’t spoken a word for the last century or two, Still attractive though, in her camel hair robe, she motioned for me to come in, and with her feeble hand she slid the covers back to make room for me on the bed. It was plain what she had in mind: I was three months late on the mortgage in those days, and she must have sensed that I was desperate for every shekel. I bent over and spoke softly into her ear:”Thoosy, there’s a significant legal issue here, you’re probably aware of that..” She rolled her ancient eyes but was silent.
I gulped, and started to undress. “…a SIGNIFICANT issue..” I repeated, “It’s even on Xanga..”
Thoughtful and sensitive, as older women often are, she moved her head ever so slightly, to call my attention to the note she had apparently prepared for the occasion, there on the side table, where it lay beside her quill pen and assorted lotions. I picked it up and read the painfully scrawled hand-writing:
“Enjoy… I’ll give you a SIGN IF I CAN’T take it anymore.”
I may not have answered Today’s Featured Question…