Whisker Alert!

Um, have you seen this? If things don't work out, this is my future.

Deterioration

My birthday is next week. I'm not saying I'm anxious about it. But I will admit that I've gotten old enough to be less than excited about my birthday. And I have a fear that I will end up being one of those grizzled women with bleach blond hair that work in the convenience store of a gas station and roll their eyes at customers when they have to stub their cigarette out and go inside to ring up a diet coke and a pack of gum. I told my friend Sam this once and he thought it was ridiculous.
Do you smoke?
No.
And you don't have blond hair.
No, but I will. . . . I will if I work at a gas station.

Probably I will be nothing like this. It is far more likely that I will end up being dumpy and wear wrinkled linen and clogs and organic cotton socks. I'm not sure what's more depressing. And there's a new twist to my aging fears. I've always loved dogs and am looking forward to having one when I am very settled and not secretly planning on running away and having an adventure in the near future. But I did some house-sitting recently and this involved taking care of a cat named Tuntses. And I really liked it. It was nice to have his company. I sat around and played the accordion and he meowed at me and sat in my accordion case and slept on my bed and ran up to greet me when I walked up to the front door at night. And on the last night that I was house-sitting I left a bar thinking that there was no one in there worth talking to and I found myself looking forward to seeing Tuntses. So there's that. I'm probably going to end up being a cat lady.